From A Grateful Nation
by MTC29
Summary: When Harmon Rabb Jr. returns home from Russia with information about his missing father, he finds that the CIA is more difficult to deal with than the KGB. Along the way we will delve into Harm and Mac's relationship, and learn about the early lives of Trish and Frank Burnett, Tom Boone, Harm Jr. and Mac.
1. Chapter 1

[A/N] After 4 seasons leading up to the mystery behind Harmon Rabb Sr., I felt cheated. Once Harm Senior's death in Russia was revealed, the elder Rabb was brushed aside. This story takes place well before Season 6, and the magical appearance of Harm's half-brother, Sergeant Sergei Zhukov. There is a bigger story to tell, and along the way we will learn about the early lives of Harm's friends and his family. I hope you stick around.

The regulations dealing with MIAs are complex. My thanks to Melissa from the US Department of Defense, POW/MIA Accounting Agency, for her kind assistance. I'm sure that she had better things to do.

* * *

From A Grateful Nation

Chapter 1

Before leaving Moscow, CIA Chief of Station Ernie McGill informed all parties involved in the search for Harmon Rabb Sr. that they were not to discuss those events until properly debriefed by the Central Intelligence Agency.

The debriefs for Admiral A.J. Chegwidden and CIA Officer Clayton Webb each took under 90 minutes. The debrief for Major Sarah Mackenzie required 6 hours. At the conclusion of a 10 hour interview, Lt. Commander Harmon Rabb Jr. was instructed to return to Langley the following day.

A.J. Chegwidden had been shot, stabbed, tortured and left for dead, but he'd come home from Vietnam. Harmon Rabb Sr. hadn't been so lucky. The Admiral felt he owed Harm Senior that much, and more.

Once back at JAG, Admiral Chegwidden instructed Petty Officer Tiner to shuffle the appropriate papers to cover the unexplained absences of Rabb and Sarah Mackenzie.

That presented no problem for Tiner, who had become quite proficient in that duty.

* * *

Thursday. 8 October, 1998  
1330 Kilo (Zulu -5)  
CIA Headquarters  
Langley, Virginia

During his first day at Langley, Harm found that the CIA was only interested in learning details of the Russian Federal Security Service- the newly styled KGB. No one cared about his father, Harmon Rabb Sr., who had been listed as MIA since 24 December, 1969.

After spending a second day in the office of the Directorate of Analysis, the analytical branch of the CIA responsible for analyzing intelligence obtained from foreign sources, Harm reached his limit. He demanded to speak to Clayton Webb.

Harm was underwhelmed by Webb's simple office with its single small window which overlooked the Agency's north parking lot. "I expected you to have a panoramic view of the Potomac," Harm told Webb.

"I'm hoping for better. What's on your mind, Harm?"

"You know damned well why I'm here. I've been spinning my wheels with the ODA for a day and a half and no one will give me a straight answer."

"Try me," said Webb.

"I need to tell my mother that I found my dad. I also need to inform the Department of the Navy that he's no longer MIA."

"I'm sorry, Harm, but you never found evidence of your father being in Russia."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"The Agency has already contacted the DoD and the Department of the Navy and provided them with conclusive evidence that your father died in Vietnam," Webb deadpanned.

"Damn you, Clay. I knew there would be a cover up. You've got your dirty little fingers all over this," Harm shot back.

"You're wrong, Harm. Those orders came straight from the Director."

"This is bullshit. You won't get away with it," Harm declared.

"We already have. There are Mortuary Affairs teams active in Vietnam which have been recovering evidence and confirming the deaths of MIA's for several years. You must be aware of that."

"What evidence did they find about my dad?" asked Harm.

"That information is above my pay grade," said Webb.

"Then tell me what you can," Harm demanded.

"We have photos of the wreckage of McDonnell Douglas F-4J Phantom II, Serial Number 150052. Aircraft assigned to USN Squadron VF-111, deployed _USS Ticonderoga_, Tonkin Gulf. Aircraft call sign- Bad Man One. Aircraft shot down by Surface to Air Missile. Pilot and RIO ejected. Two good chutes observed. Aircraft crashed 17 miles NW of Huu San, Dạng Sơn Province, North Vietnam, 24 December, 1969. Crew status- Radar Intercept Officer: LTJG Gibson, Howard S... Died on impact. Body recovered by USAF 3rd Aerospace Rescue and Recovery Group. Pilot: Lt. Rabb, Harmon D. Sr... MIA."

"That information has been in my dad's file for 29 years. Show me the photos of the aircraft and the crash site," and Webb slid them across his desk.

What remained of the aircraft was clearly an F-4, and based on what Harm had learned about the Phantom, it could be the J variant.

"These could be photos of any F-4J, and taken at a crash site anywhere in Vietnam," Harm told Webb.

"But they're not. A technical representative from Boeing, which is McDonnell Douglass successor company, accompanied the team and positively identified the wreckage using records from McDonnell Douglass' St. Louis factory. Harm, the aircraft in those photos is the one that your father was flying on Christmas Eve, 1969, and that is God's truth."

"His regular aircraft was 150229, but it was undergoing periodic maintenance which was the delayed by the Bob Hope troop visiting the ship on Christmas Eve. That's the reason he wasn't flying 'Sweet Sarah'."

"Sweet Sarah?" asked Webb.

"He named his aircraft after his mother- my grandmother, Sarah Harmon Rabb."

"I didn't know that," said Webb

"There's no reason that you should have. Sarah had brought him through some tough missions. If he'd been flying his own Phantom instead of...well, he'd have made it home."

"It might have made a difference. There is no way that we'll ever know." Webb was beginning to feel remorse over what was being done to cover up Harm Senior's capture in Vietnam, and his imprisonment in Russia.

Harm slid the photos across the desk and back to Webb. "How long have you been sitting on this information?"

"From the time that you discovered that book inside the _USS Hornet _last year. My father was Chief of Station in Saigon. The Agency had heard rumors of the book's existence for quite a while."

"So you knew that there were MIAs being held in the Soviet Union," Harm said.

"We suspected it. We had no evidence other than intel obtained from NVA prisoners while under interrogation by the _Cãnh Sát Dã Chiến, _the South Vietnamese National Police Field Force, which operated closely with the Agency."

"Which means that they did the torturing for the CIA."

"That's the way that business was done in Vietnam. I grew up in South East Asia, so I know first hand."

"That could explain a lot about you, Webb."

"That hardly matters. What does matter is that you lost the book to Sokol."

"He took it from me."

"Semantics. Without that book we had nothing concrete."

"And my father?"

"There was no reasonable expectation that he could still be alive after so many years."

"But you had a contingency plan. His wrecked F-4."

"No American had set foot at that crash site since your dad went down on Christmas Eve. It is in a mountainous area and not easily accessible."

"I know. I went to that area of Vietnam when I was 16 while looking for my dad."

"We have a file on that trip," Webb deadpanned.

"I'll bet that you do, you little bastard."

Webb paid no attention to the insult. "After you discovered the book, the Agency detailed a Mortuary Affairs team to investigate the crash site."

"Investigate? What you mean is to compile a cover story. What kinds of sick minds do you have working here at Langley?"

"Attacking the Agency gains you nothing, Harm. The fact is that your father's imprisonment in Russia can't be released to the public, or to the Department of Defense. So far as the world in concerned, Harmon Rabb Sr. died on 24 December, 1969 in what is now the Socialist Republic of Vietnam."

"More Agency lies," Harm spat.

"Of particular concern to you is that your father's status will be changed to Killed in Action. He will also be advanced in rank to captain."

"I could not care less about his promotion," said Harm.

"I understand your feelings, but he did earn it."

Because MIA's aren't considered dead, they are retained on the active duty rolls and remain eligible for regular promotions. In 1980, Harmon Rabb Senior was promoted to full commander and then retired from the US Navy after 20 years of service. Harm Senior's promotion to captain was justifiably known as a "tombstone promotion."

Webb continued. "Harm, you understand that the Russian's aren't thrilled that you managed to track down your father's whereabouts. You raised quite a stink in their Ministry of Defense."

"Because I discovered their cover up?" said Harm.

"It's because they got caught. Russians have no qualms about lying, but they hate getting caught. It really upsets them."

"If my dad was in Russia, it means that there may be others, and some of them may still be alive. It's time that they are accounted for."

Webb looked directly at Harm. "It doesn't work that way in Russia. If there were any POWs still alive, thanks to your little foray, they're dead now."

Webb's cavalier attitude angered Harm, but it also chilled him to the bone. "That was never my intention."

"Russia is pulling itself apart. The power struggle that you were caught up in between Parlovsky and Sokol is one of hundreds that are taking place. Issues like nuclear and biological weapons proliferation hang in the balance."

"So where do we go from here?"

"Only Ed McGill in Moscow, Sarah, the Admiral, and you and I know what took place in Russia. The Agency wants to keep it that way."

"And if I choose not to abide by that tidy arrangement?" Harm asked in a sarcastic tone.

Webb leaned back in his chair. "The Russians are pissed about that stolen MiG-29. They want your ass on a plate, as well as $11 million for the loss of the aircraft. They'll get the $11 million, the Agency will see to that. Whether or not they get you is _entirely up to you_."

"The Russians should be held accountable."

"Don't speak too fast on the subject of accountability. In 1893, the U.S. Senate ratified an extradition treaty with czarist Russia. The Russians have filed extradition papers based on that treaty. They've also compiled a laundry list of charges against you, including crimes against the Russian people. Harm, one of those charges is terrorism. That carries a death sentence, or life in prison at hard labor-which in Russia is worse than a death sentence."

"Can I be extradited?"

"The Department of State says that the Russian treaty is no longer valid, but the treaty hasn't been formally abrogated. You don't want to be the one who puts it to the test."

Harm shook his head slowly back and forth. "I spent decades looking for answers about my father. Giving into pressure means that those years were wasted."

"You found your father, so accomplished what you set out to do. Harm, I'm sorry that your father is dead- I really am, but what end is served by dragging this out?"

"My dad deserves better than to have the final years of his life locked away in a file cabinet."

"We both know that whatever life your dad lead in Russia was not the life that he wanted. Harm, if you stand trial in Russia and are convicted of terrorism, you'll spend what's left of your life in prison. What would that do to your mother?"

"It would kill her."

Webb discretely slid a small package of tissue across the desk and then turned his head away for a few seconds.

His eyes dry, Harm said, "I want to make all of this go away."

"That's the smart move. Once declared officially dead, you can hold a memorial service for your dad. Lay his memory to rest at Arlington, and with full military honors. Your father deserves that, and you can give it to him."

"If I agree, what happens next?"

"A revised copy of your dad's DD-214 and a Death Certificate will be placed in his permanent file. Copies of each of those documents will be in your hands before noon, tomorrow. I'll deliver them personally."

"And my mother?" asked Harm.

"Because your mother has remarried, you are the survivor of record. It will be up to you to inform her of the circumstances of your father's death."

Harm remembered when his mother had declared his father dead so that she could marry Frank Burnett.

The declaration of death in absentia was a civil matter. As far as the DoD was concerned, Harmon Rabb Sr. remained MIA until a preponderance of evidence proved otherwise. The CIA was going to provide that evidence, and the DoD would close his father's case with Harmon Rabb Senior listed as Killed In Action.

"What story do I tell my mother about my trip to Russia?" Harm asked.

"Tell her that Russia was a wild goose chase. After all, this wasn't your first."

"You're a smug little SOB," Harm spat.

"Harm, I don't like this any more than you do, but the situation in Russia is fluid. Yeltsin appears to be on his way out. A new government may prove more receptive to a full disclosure of their records, and if that happens, all bets are off."

"What will the story be then?"

"If further details come to light, we'll deal with them as they happen. That's why Mortuary Affairs reports include a codicil."

"In case you have to start backpedaling," said Harm.

"Let's stay focused on what is happening right now and not worry about what might happen down the road. You wanted all of this to go away. Well, I served in the Army Adjutant General's Corps, and I know how to deal with the paperwork."

Webb had painted Harm into a corner, and he knew it.

For almost thirty years, the uncertainty of his father's fate had been gnawing away at Harm. It had driven a wedge between himself and his stepfather, and his relationship with his mother had suffered because of it.

No matter where or how it had happened, his father was dead. The time had arrived to move forward.

"I want this nightmare to be over, for everyone's sake," Harm said with finality.

"I'll put it into motion. It will all go smoothly. You have my word on that."

Harm was less than impressed with Webb's assurances, but what choice did he have?

"Several members of my dad's old squadron are still serving in the Navy, and are currently deployed. How much time will I have to arrange a service at Arlington?"

"Because there is no body, it must be a memorial service. There is no time limit on that." Webb reached into his desk and removed a single piece of paper. "This is the name and the phone number of the Arlington National Cemetery Funeral Resources Director. She can walk you through it all, step by step."

"Remarried or not, I'll have to ask my mother what type of service she wants for my dad."

Webb shook his head. "My father spent over forty years serving this country, first as a commissioned officer in the Foreign Service, then in the OSS, and finally with the Agency. When he died, the only persons who attended his interment service were my mother and myself. That's the way that my mother wanted it. Your mother has remarried and moved on with her life, so give your dad the memorial service that you want him to have. Harm, give your dad what my dad should have had."

Now it was Webb's turn to reach for the tissues.


	2. Chapter 2

Harm will fly to San Diego to visit his mother, but he won't make the trip alone.

* * *

Chapter 2

Friday. 9 October, 1998  
1130 Kilo (Zulu -5)  
JAG Headquarters  
Falls Church, Virginia

When Clayton Webb walked into Harm's office, he immediately handed Harm the file. "As promised."

"I'll send certified copies to the DoD and the Department of the Navy." Harmon Rabb had seen countless legal documents, and he knew that these were genuine.

"The Pentagon was my first stop."

"You're a delivery boy now?" asked Harm

"If I want to get out of that office with a view the parking lot, hell yes. Harm, if there's anything more that I can do for you, just let me know."

"As a matter of fact. I'm going in to see the Admiral, and I need you there with me." Harm watched the color drain from Webb's face.

"I've only just recovered from the last time I saw Chegwidden. The man has a mean right cross," and Webb rubbed his jaw.

"You being there would be a big help."

Webb sighed. "Lead on MacDuff."

* * *

"Commander Rabb and Mister Webb are here to see you, sir," said Petty Officer Tiner.

"Send them in," was the Admirals curt response.

As soon as the pair walked into his office, Admiral Chegwidden confronted Clayton Webb. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you right now?"

"Don't shoot the messenger, A.J."

"I've been in the Navy for 30 years, and what you are doing to with this cover up is a disgrace. Just my knowing about it makes me feel as dirty as a two dollar whore in Da Nang."

Harm spoke up. "With all due respect, Admiral. I agreed to it. Without going into the ugly details, this is the only way to put it behind us."

"Harm, is this really what you want? or is it what Langley is telling you to do?" Chegwidden looked at Webb, who was trying his best to blend in with the paneling.

"Sir, it's what I have to do," said Harm.

"We can fight this," said the Admiral.

"To what end, sir? I want my father to be memorialized at Arlington with full honors. He was a combat pilot who gave his life for his country, just like his own father had done in WWII. I want my father remembered for that, and not as a kidnapped POW caught up in Cold War intrigue."

"This is your call, but experience has taught me that these kinds of secrets don't stay secret for long."

Webb spoke up. "A.J, if I can say something about that-"

The former SEAL stared down the CIA officer. "Webb, if I hear another word out of you, this time I'll break your damned jaw."

Harm got the conversation back on track. "Admiral, I love my father. He was a gifted aviator, and an officer and a gentleman. I feel that this is the best way for his Naval career to end. What might happen later doesn't matter."

"Harm, I respect that. Your dad would be proud of you. Hell, I'm proud of you." The Admiral was embarrassed that he'd let that slip out

"Thank you, sir. After all that you've done for me, I hate to ask this, but I'd feel uncomfortable discussing recent events with my mother over the telephone."

"Will five days be sufficient?" the Admiral asked.

"That is more than generous, sir."

"Commander, give your mother my condolences."

Harm could sense by the Admiral's tone that he had abruptly switched from father figure to commanding officer. "I will do that. Thank you, sir."

"You are dismissed."

Harm rose to his feet and stood at attention. "Aye aye, sir," and he left the Admiral's office with Webb right behind him.

"That meeting took ten years off of my life," said Webb, who was happy to have left Chegwidden's office with all of his teeth.

"I'm sorry about that, Clay. But I hope you get that new office."

"Harm, I only met your mother once, and it was briefly. Please give her my sincere condolences," and the two men exchanged a rare handshake.

* * *

When Harm returned to his own office, Mac was sitting in his chair and waiting for him.

She was wearing her Marine Service Alpha's, but for some strange reason, Harm was seeing Mac dressed as the gypsy fortune teller. "How did it go with the Admiral?" she asked.

"Better than expected. The Admiral has given me five days to visit with my mother in San Diego."

"Would you like me to go with you?"

Harm was caught off guard. "You want to go with me to visit my mother?"

"Harm, when the time comes for you to tell Trish what happened to your dad, no matter what the story is, a woman should be there with her."

"I hadn't considered that," Harm admitted. _My God. What would Mac think if instead of my mother, I was the one who broke down and cried?_

Mac gave sly smile. "Because you're a man, I wouldn't expect you to be so thoughtful."

"Of course I'd like you to go with me, but I doubt that the Admiral will give you the time off."

Mac held up her hand. "He has given me five days leave."

"You've already spoken to him?"

"He called me into his office first thing this morning. Harm, the Admiral came home from Vietnam, but your dad didn't. I think that his seeing you in Russia has given him survivors guilt."

"I don't know what to say."

"Say nothing. It's done," and a smile spread across Mac's beautiful face.

"I'll arrange for the tickets," said Harm.

Mac's hand came up again. "Already taken care of. Frank has booked us two seats on tomorrow's 1130 United flight out of Dulles."

"It seems that you've handled everything."

"Well, I did begin my Marine Corps career in Administration and Logistics."

"At least let me pick you up and take you to the airport. I'll swing by your place a 0900," Harm said.

"I was thinking that I could stay the night with you. That way we can leave for the airport together." Mac looked up in anticipation of his answer.

What man would not desire her? Harm had long suspected that Mac was a passionate woman, but she kept it hidden beneath the Marine façade. The look on her face left no doubt in his mind of what she wanted to happen tonight.

Harm allowed himself to picture Mac in his bed.

He was holding her. She'd want to be held tightly, and he was looking into her huge brown eyes. He slowly ran his hands along her body, marveling at how well toned she was. Then they kissed...

Harm snapped back to reality. It was a beautiful picture, but the timing wasn't right.

_But if not now, when?_

"I'm sorry, Mac. I have a lot of things to take care of this evening. I'll be at your place at 0900."

Mac abruptly stood up and walked towards the door.

"Mac-"

She turned and told him, "It's okay, Harm. I'll see in 20 hours and 11 minutes."

As Sarah MacKenzie walked into the bullpen, she wondered if her parading naked in front of Harmon Rabb would get the desired results?

_No, he'd warn me about getting a chill, and then hand me a robe. _

* * *

Saturday. 10 October, 1998  
1050 Local (Zulu -5)  
Dulles International Airport  
Loudoun County, Virginia

"United Airlines Flight UA 231, from Washington DC to San Diego is now boarding at Gate 34," came the announcement.

Business passengers were starting to board when Harm felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around and was surprised to see Clayton Webb, who was not pleased to find Mac was accompanying him to San Diego.

"Excuse us, Sarah, but I need a minute alone with Harm."

"I'll secure our carry ons." Mac took Harm's bag and left the two men alone.

"What's this about, Clay?"

Webb handed Harm a Sony digital audio tape player along with a pair of small headphones. "This is for you."

"A gift? My birthday isn't for two weeks," Harm joked.

"The tape contains radio transmissions which were recorded at a CIA LIMA site in northern Laos. To the best of my knowledge, no one outside of the Agency has ever heard this tape."

"Well, Mister Phelps, should I destroy the tape after I listen to it?"

"The recording was made on 24 December, 1969. I suggest that you have a couple of drinks before you listen to it," said the inscrutable CIA officer who quickly disappeared inside the crowded terminal.

A leggy blond stewardess directed Harm to his seat where Mac was busy studying the aircraft safety sheet and making note of the emergency exists. Mac scowled at the blond, who quickly retreated to the safety of the galley.

"What was on Clay's mind?" Mac asked.

"He gave me this tape player."

"That was nice of him." Mac's curiosity quickly got the better of her. "Aren't you going to listen to your tape?" she asked anxiously.

"Maybe later. Right now I could use a drink."

* * *

Saturday. 10 October, 1998  
United Flight UA 231  
32,000 above Greeley County, Kansas

The tape began with a sterile voice. "LIMA Site 75. 11th transmission, 24 December, 1530 hours. Sector, Heavy Green. Kilo-Zebra-Tango."

Harm had already had two drinks, but when he heard his father's voice on the tape a shiver went up his spine.

_"What have we got, Hoot?" _

_"Strobe _(SAM radar launch alert) _at 10 o'clock." _

This was the first time that Harm had heard the voice of Lt. Howard "Hoot" Gibson, his father's RIO.

_"Bad Man Two. Send mode one." _said Harmon Rabb. His aircraft was the bait for the SAMs.

_"Sending mode one,"_ answered Tom Boone, whose aircraft was equipped with a countermeasures pod.

There was no mistaking Tom Boone's voice. It was more familiar to Harm than his father's.

_"Bad_ _Man One, no joy on launch light."_

_"Fairfield One to Two. I have a radar tone." _

Harm recognized Fairfield One as Lt. Commander (now Rear Admiral) Allen Cherry, the flight leader, whose call sign was "Buster".

_"Fox-three. Missile away,_" shouted Lt. Bill Ross whose call sign was Rooster. Ross was Al Cherry's wingman and he was carrying AGM-45 Shrike anti-radiation missile designed to home in on hostile anti-aircraft radar.

"They just shut down," said cherry, who saw his wingman's Shrike fly off and then disappear from view.

Tom Boone saw a large cloud of dust on the ground. Then fire and smoke, and a projectile lifting off the like a rocket.

It was a SAM launch.

_"__Bad Man Two has got a tally. __Switching to Mode two. __Hammer, he's heading for you...break left!"_

A SAM cannot be evaded by climbing. Missiles are light weight and have powerful rocket motors which allow them to easily out climb any aircraft. The missile's weakness is in maneuvering. Jinking, rolling, hard breaking turns, or diving, all of which can cause the missile's radar signals to be lost in ground clutter, are an aircraft's the best defense.

_"Missile's gone active,__"_ said Boone, who watched helplessly as the missile's exhaust trail raced after his friend's aircraft.

_"I have another missile launch," _Lt. Bill Ross shouted in Fairfield Two.

_"Hammer, dive for the deck__!"_ Al Cherry shouted, and everyone held their breath as the missiles continued to close on Harm's Phantom.

_"He's going to outrun it," _said Tom Boone, and the first missile's exhausted its fuel before getting close to Harm's F-4.

"_Number one missed," _shouted Cherry who saw the second missile continuing to close. _"Hammer, break hard right for the second!"_

Just as the second missile's fuel was exhausted, it detonated by proximity and Harm's F-4 burst into flames.

"_Oh shit! _Tom Boone screamed into the open microphone. "_Bad Man One has been hit! Oh Jesus. He's on fire. Get out, Harm. Get out!" _

Al Cherry immediately raised _USS Chicago,_ the radar control ship cruising in the Tonkin Gulf. _"Red Crown...Red Crown. Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. Navy Bad Man One has just been shot down." _

"_This is Red Crown, on Guard_ (the emergency channel)." The voice belonged to Chief Larry Nowell, who had been tracking multiple aircraft on his radar scope. The instant Nowell heard the Mayday call he began handing off aircraft to other controllers. _"Navy aircraft calling, say again all after Mayday." _

_"This is Navy Fairfield One. Bad Man One has been shot down. __INS _(Internal Navigation System) _Coordinates 2121-110679."_

Bill Ross cut in. _"__Buster, I've the two chutes at my 9 o'clock." _

_"Take high-cap and stay with those chutes," _Cherry ordered_. "Red Crown, Bad Man One has ejected.__ We have two good chutes."_

"Roger_. What is the terrain?" _

_"Mountains and a heavy tree line- triple canopy," _said Cherry.

_"I'm taking flak. I've got to break off," _announced Bill Ross.

_"Aircraft has impacted the ground. There's smoke and a fire. Someone is going to spot it," _said Boone. "_Jughead, what are the coordinates?" _Boone asked his RIO, Lt. Archie Bond.

Harm Junior had never met Archie Bond, and Tom Boone had never spoken the man's name in his presence.

"_Wait one," _said Bond.

"_Wait hell! __You've got one job in this airplane!" Boone demanded. _

_"I've got it," _said Cherry. _"Red Crown. Downed aircraft coordinates are 2122-110672."_

"_I've lost the chutes," _said Ross who had dodged the flak and retaken his station. "_They must have gone into the trees."_

_"I can't see a damned thing. I'm coming back hard right to__ go low-cap,"_ said Boone.

On board the _USS Chicago, _Chief Nowell was busy coordinating with US Air Force search and rescue components based in Nakhon Phanom, Thailand, and with aircraft from _USS Constellation, _all while trying to answer the questions now pouring in from _USS Ticonderoga. _

_"__Fairfield One, Red Crown. Air Force rescue has been notified. I have a CAP from the Constellation inbound. ETA 15 minutes. __State your endurance," _Nowel requested.

_"We're bingo in ten," _said Cherry.

_"Roger. The Jolly's _(rescue helicopters) _are inbound. They should be five behind the Connie's CAP." _

The audio which followed was several minutes of open microphones with the sounds of heavy breathing though oxygen masks while the three aircraft circled the area searching for the downed aviators.

Suddenly, the high pitched wail of a RT-10 emergency radio-beacon began playing on the tape.

Al Cherry began calling, "_Beeper beeper, come up voice. Beeper beeper, come up voice."_

The beacon's wailing continued while everyone waited for a response on the two-way radio which had a voice range of 10 miles.

_"Beeper beeper, come up voice."_

There was a burst of static on the tape, and Harm trembled at the sound of his father's voice.

"_Bad Man One-Alpha."_

Al Cherry was in command of the flight, and Cherry should be the one in radio communication with the ground. Tom Boone didn't care.

_"Harm, are you okay?" _asked Boone, who was trying in vain to locate his friend's landing zone.

_"I think my legs are broken. I can't locate Bravo _(Hoot)."

_"We can't see you. Can you see us?" _asked Boone.

_"I see smoke to the north."_

Boone knew that the smoke was from Harm's own downed Phantom. _"Buster, I'm turning south."_

Boone should have been observing a 1000 foot hard-deck, but he was now flying well below that.

_"We're too low," _Archie Bond cautioned from the backseat.

_"I know what I'm doing!" _Boone ignored his RIO's warnings and began flying even lower. "_Harm, do you see me?"_

There was nothing but static over the radio.

_"Harm, do you see me?" _Boone pleaded.

Now there wasn't even static. Contact with Bad Man One had been broken.

Bill Ross called, _"Fairfield_ _One_ _from Two. I'm bingo fuel."_

The F-4 was a gas hog, more so at low altitude and low speed. Fuel had become the critical issue.

_"Roger. Bad Man Two. Fuel status?" _asked Cherry.

_"I_ _can orbit until the CAP arrives,_" said Boone,

Archie Bond cut in. "_Buster, we are bingo. Our fuel is negative 2."_

_"God damn you, Jug. Stop running your mouth! Buster, I can orbit until the CAP arrives," _Boone said.

Al Cherry was in command, and was left up to him.

_"Red Crown, from Fairfield One." _

_"Go."_

_"Contact was established with Bad Man One-Alpha. Alpha states two broken legs and he may have other injuries. His location is south of the crash site. I say again, his location is south of the crash site. Negative contact with Bravo. Contact with Alpha has been broken. We are bingo."_

_"Roger._ _The CAP should arrive in five." _

A new voice was heard on the tape. "_Sinclair One, to Red Crown."_

_"Go."_

_"We're seven minutes out."_

_"Roger. Contact Fairfield One on two-two-five-point five."_

_"Sinclair One to __Fairfield One.__"_

_"Go."_

_"We're coming in to set up the CAP. __I have a visual on the smoke.__"_

_"We had one good radio contact south of the crash site. No visual. Pilot badly injured. Contact has been lost."_

__"Roger. We can maintain station to cover ___for the Jolly's and the Sandy's _(USAF A-1 Skyraiders which served as the Jolly's escorts)_."_

To ensure his aircraft were ready to leave, Cherry called for an ops check_. _

_"Fairfield Two, ready," _said Bill Ross.

There was no response from Tom Boone.

_"Fairfield One to Bad Man Two, acknowledge...Two, answer me!" _Cherry demanded.

"_I have enough fuel to wait for Sinclair."_

_"Negative. __There is nothing more that we can do here."_

_"Buster, I'm taking 37 mm ground fire,"_ Bill Ross announced.

Al Cherry could see the bright orange flashes erupting from the ground. The Soviet built automatic cannons were deadly against low flying aircraft and the gunners would find their range in a matter of seconds.

_"Tom, we've got to go!" _Cherry ordered.

Tom Boone was weeping. _"I can't leave him...he would never leave me." _

The recording ended abruptly with the same sterile voice. "LIMA 75. Transmission suspended. 1410 hours. Kilo-Zebra-Tango."

Inside the airliner, Harmon Rabb Jr. pulled off his headphones and tossed them aside. Now he was the one on the ground in North Vietnam.

Harm could hear the NVA moving in the trees. They were coming for him, but his legs were broken and he couldn't run. He tried to crawl away and hide, but they were on him.

It was late 1969 and the North Vietnamese were no longer killing downed pilots. They wanted aircrews alive to be held as POWs and used as bargaining chips.

Harm put up his hands.

The NVA began screaming at him. They destroyed his signal beacon and then stripped off his gear. Now they started kicking and beating him. When they began kicking his broken legs, he couldn't stand it.

A rifle butt was raised above his head. When it came down, everything went black.

Mac Looked over at Harm. "My God. You look like you've seen a ghost."

He had.


	3. Chapter 3

[A/N] I'm more comfortable writing action sequences than dialog, so the positive response to this story caught me off guard. It has a readership greater than my previous two "action" stories combined, which is not to say that you shouldn't read those two stories. I don't think that is was established as canon that Frank Burnett had a bad heart, but every JAG fan fiction story gives Frank a bum ticker, so I felt obligated to do the same. I want to thank the readers who took the time to review my story, as well as those who marked it as a favorite. I am flattered.

* * *

Chapter 3

Saturday, 10 October, 1998  
1300 PDT  
Burnett Residence  
La Jolla, CA

The barbeque season was coming to an end, but the Fall weather in San Diego was still comfortable, so Frank Burnett wheeled his gas grill out of it's storage cabinet and gave it a once over.

Harm and Mac were was due arrive at 3:30PM. Trish had been excited that Mac was joining Harm, but she insisted there be a hands-off policy in her son's personal life.

Frank wondered what was Harm waiting for? Sarah MacKenzie was beautiful and brilliant. Mac was nothing like the parade of neurotic girls that Harm had brought home over the years. If Harm couldn't see this for himself, then Frank felt that what his stepson needed was a swift kick in the ass.

After setting up the grill, Frank went over to the patio bar and mixed a gin martini- Bombay Sapphire, gently stirred, and very dry. His doctor insisted that the martinis were bad for him. What else was new?

From the time he was 9 years old, everything had been bad for Frank Burnett.

It began as a sore throat, but quickly became strep. In Frank's youth, strep throat could become a medical crisis. Frank developed Rheumatic fever, which left him with a heart murmur. The murmur prevented him from participating in sports or strenuous school activates, and it kept him out of the Boy Scouts. It also disqualified him from military service.

Frank enrolled in the University of Southern California, majoring in mechanical engineering. After graduating, he went to work at the Chrysler Corporation's Maywood assembly plant in Culver City. The Korean War was at its peak, and the plant was producing aircraft engines for the US Navy. The Chrysler bosses emphasized that this was important work, but for Frank Burnett, who stood on the sidelines while men his age went to war, it was bitter-sweet.

Frank worked his way up the corporate ladder. At age 30, he was the youngest VP at Chrysler and in 1961 he was tapped by its President, Lynn Townsend, to come to Detroit and work on the firm's turbine automotive project. Chrysler sent its small fleet of turbine cars across North America, Europe and Mexico, and Frank visited 90 cities and gave rides to thousands of people. When Chrysler's turbine program ended in 1966, Frank returned to Maywood as a senior VP with a corner office.

Frank's horizons at Chrysler seemed limitless. President? Chairman of the Board? Nothing was out of bounds.

The 1974 Oil Crisis hit the US auto industry hard. As the smallest of the Big 3 automakers, Chrysler lacked the resources to meet the new challenges. One of the first steps was to close down many of the company's assembly plants, including Maywood.

Frank's father had done well by dabbling in Southern California real estate, and Frank had inherited a handsome sum from his family's estate. When Chrysler offered Frank an early retirement package, he left the firm and never looked back.

It had taken over a year for Frank to construct his La Jolla dream home. In the meantime, he had married Patricia Rabb, the widow of a naval aviator with a young son, Harmon Rabb Jr. Although Patricia Rabb had declared her husband dead, the US Navy listed Harmon Rabb Senior as MIA, and Frank's relationship with his stepson was strained.

That was water under the bridge.

Harm had called last night and told his mother that Russia had proven to be another dead end. Trish had taken it well- she hadn't expected to hear anything else. Harm could have left it at that, but because he was coming out to see his mother, Frank suspected that Harm had more to say.

Frank knew that Trish held onto the slim hope that Harm Senior might somehow be alive. Frank loved his wife and he loved his stepson, but he secretly wished that they could bury Harmon Rabb Senior once and for all.

* * *

Saturday, 10 October, 1998  
1500 PDT  
San Diego International Airport

After Harm and Mac had cleared the terminal, they rented a Chrysler LHS, a full sized luxury sedan. Mac was surprised by Harm's choice, but he explained that he always rented a Chrysler when he visited his mother and Frank.

Mac was less than pleased with the young woman working the counter; a tall blonde who shamelessly flirted with Harm.

When the blonde asked Harm if he and his "sister" would need assistance with their baggage, Harm smiled, but Mac wanted to punch her in the nose.

Traffic on I-5 north was heavy, but it was a short drive from the airport to the Burnett's home near La Jolla Coves.

From the time they got into the rental car, Harm had hardly spoken. Mac was worried. It was hard enough to get Harmon Rabb to express his feelings. His silence only made it worse.

Mac looked over at Harm. "I'll pay you $20 if you'll say ten words."

"I'm sorry, Mac. I'm just trying to think how I can explain to my mother about my dad being confirmed as KIA in Vietnam. All that I told her over the phone was that Russia had been a wild goose chase. She's used to hearing stories like that coming from me."

"You're not considering telling her the truth, are you?"

"It might be for the best," Harm said off hand.

"No, it won't. Telling Trish that your father died in Russia means her knowing that he endured all of those years of abuse and solitary confinement. Why put her through that?"

"It's just that I hate lying to my mother."

"Don't think about that. Think about everything you said about honoring your father's memory."

"No matter what I tell my mother, it will be the hardest thing I've done in my life."

"You're a good son, Harm. You'll do the right thing."

Harm smiled at Mac. "When do I get my twenty bucks?"

"If you're a good boy, I'll take you out for lunch this week. But only if you behave."

When the car turned off Prospect Blvd and onto an exclusive private road, Mac was amazed at the opulence of the neighborhood. "It must have been wonderful growing up here," she said.

As a boy, Harm felt that this house was where his mother and Frank lived, and that his real home was his grandmother's farm in Pennsylvania.

"I had some good times here. When I was a second class midshipman, I invited some of my Academy friends to spend our three weeks of summer vacation at the house."

"Did you invite Diane?" Mac asked point blank.

The question hit Harm like a punch to the gut. "She was included in the group."

"Were any of your other female classmates invited?" Mac demanded.

"Not to the best of my recollection."

"So it was just _her_!"

Before Harm could formulate an appropriate answer, they arrived at the house. Harm parked the car in the driveway and said, "We'll get the luggage later," and they entered the property through the side gate.

"What does a man have to do to get a drink around here?" Harm said to Frank, who was seated on the patio and enjoying the fresh off shore breeze, and a fresh martini.

Frank got on his feet. "It's good to see you, son. Mac, you're looking beautiful, as always."

"You're looking pretty good yourself," and Mac gave Frank a hug.

"How about a martini, Harm?" and Frank indicated to a large pitcher on the bar.

"I could use one."

"Tonic water with a twist. Right, Mac?" asked Frank.

"That would be wonderful." Telling Trish and Frank about her alcoholism when they'd first met had made things much easier.

The sliding glass door opened, and Trish walked onto the patio. "Hello, darling," and Harm raced over to embrace his mother. Trish looked over at Mac. "It's wonderful to see you again, Mac. Thank you for coming to stay with us."

"It's good to see you too, Trish. Thank you for inviting me."

"Trish, would you care for a martini?" Frank asked his wife.

"I'll have one before dinner. Right now I want to visit with Harm and Mac."

Frank dispensed the drinks and then sat down across from Harm. "When we heard about the MiG going down, your mother and I were concerned."

"The press made too much of it. I'm afraid that we lost of the remainder of the money."

"As long as you both came back safe, that's all that matters," said Frank.

Harm looked over at his mother. He hesitated before finally saying, "Russia was a wild goose chase, but I have more information about dad."

"What now?" Trish's voice was edgy, almost angry. How many times must she endure this?

"He's been officially listed a KIA in Vietnam. It was a year long investigation. The DoD had the papers waiting for me when I got home."

"Are they sure?" asked Frank.

"The evidence is conclusive. He died on the ground on Christmas Eve, 1969. I have a copy of the file with me. I'll go to the car and get it."

"No!" said Trish.

"But I brought it for you, mom," Harm said.

Trish's voice was stern. "Frank, Mac, I need some time alone with _my_ son."

"Mac, why don't I show you around the neighborhood. After that we can bring in the luggage," Frank said.

"Yes, that's a great idea," and Mac and Frank hurried out through the side gate.

"Are they 100% certain that he is dead?" Trish asked.

"The Mortuary Affairs report left no room for doubt."

Trish pulled no punches. "Is there a body?"

"No. But the evidence is irrefutable. The report is in the file."

"I've heard enough. Shred it, or burn it. I do not want that file in my house." Trish looked directly at her son. "Harmon, is there any doubt in your own mind that your father is dead?"

"No...daddy's dead," and Harm began to cry. "I'm sorry, mommy. I'm so sorry that I had to be the one to tell you."

Instead of grief, Trish felt relieved knowing that her ordeal was finally over. Her grief now was for her son, who was crying in her arms.

She had finished crying decades ago.

Trish made her way over to Harm. She held his head and began gently stroking his hair. "It's alright baby. I'm here. Just let it all out."

When Harm had stopped crying, Trish went to the bar for a towel and gave it to Harm so that he could wipe his eyes. "Are you alright, darling?"

_Thank God that Frank and Mac weren't here to see that display._

"Yes. I'm fine now. After everyone goes to bed, I'll burn the file. Just like you wanted," said Harm.

"Darling, I want you to understand that I haven't stopped loving your father. Nothing could make me do that. But I want to remember him exactly as he was the last time I saw him. Do you remember when we watched while the tugs moved the _Ticonderoga _away from the dock?"

"I do. Dad was on the flight deck with Tom Boone and Bill Ross. Dad and Bill were waving to me, and Tom was jumping up and down so much that I thought he was going to fall off the ship," and Harm's face broke into a broad smile.

"Harmon, when I see that smile, I see your father. Please, don't allow what has happened to take that smile away...it's all that I have left of him."

* * *

Mac and Frank had been walking for fifteen minutes. Frank showed no sign of being tired, but Mac knew that he had a bad heart and she insisted that they head back to the house.

"Frank, this entire area is a paradise. How on earth did you find it?" Mac asked.

"I fell in love with La Jolla as a boy. My father was a captain in the Marine Corps Reserve. When he was recalled to active duty during WWII, he was stationed at Camp Mathews."

"Your father was a Marine? No wonder I like you so much."

"During the First World War, or 'The Great War' as my dad called it, he served with the 3rd Battalion, 5th Marines. My father was awarded a Purple Heart for wounds he received during the Battle of Belleau Wood."

"That's one of the most famous battles in the history of the Corps."

"He received a second Purple Heart after being gassed, and was in the hospital when the Armistice was signed in November, 1918. My dad didn't talk much about the fighting, but my mother said that he suffered from nightmares for years after coming home. I don't know what he saw in France, but it must have been horrific."

"It sounds like your dad was a damned fine Marine."

"Camp Mathews was just a few miles away from La Jolla, so when I retired from Chrysler, this is where I built my dream house," Frank said.

"It is a lovely home."

"It didn't become a real home until Trish and Harm moved in. Once I had a family, the house was complete."

"You had never been married?" asked Mac.

"When I was working I never seemed able to find the time for a serious relationship. It wouldn't have been fair for me to have had a wife because back then my job was my life. When I met Trish, everything changed."

_How could Harm not have liked this man? I would have given anything on this earth to have had my mother divorce my own father and then marry Frank Burnett._

The pair walked along in silence, enjoying each other's company. When they reached the house, Mac cautiously poked her head past the side gate. When she saw that Harm and Trish were talking and smiling, she waved to Frank and they walked onto the patio.

"I hate to break this up, but how about giving me a hand with the luggage?" Mac said to Harm, who got up to assist her.

Frank poured another martini and sat down next to Trish. "How did it go?"

"Harm Senior is dead. He was killed in action in Vietnam on Christmas Eve," Trish said matter of fact.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I truly am."

"I always knew that he was dead. I don't know why I allowed myself believe otherwise."

"Are you okay?" asked Frank.

"Yes, I'm fine. Let's not dwell on this. I don't want it to ruin our visit with Harm and Mac."

Frank reached over and took his wife's hand. "You're a remarkable woman. Harm Senior and I are both lucky men."

When Harm and Mac came back to the patio through the sliding glass door, Frank said, "I'm sorry. I should have helped you with the bags."

"It's alright. Mac moved the bags inside with no trouble," Harm joked. He had left his briefcase and the file it contained inside the car. He would burn the file tonight.

"The Marines are used to doing all of the heavy work, while the Navy takes all of the credit," said Mac.

Harm looked at Trish. "Mac can have the guestroom. I'll sleep on the sofa bed in the study."

Frank and Trish stared at each other in disbelief. They had taken for granted that Harm and Mac would be sleeping together so only the guestroom was made up.

"I'll need to finish making up the study. I'll do it after dinner," said Trish.

"I'll give you a hand," said Mac, who was clearly disappointed by the sleeping arrangements.

Frank said, "Speaking of dinner, I'm starved. Tonight we have a choice of grilled shrimp, or a thick rib eye."

"I'll have the shrimp," said Harm.

"The same," said Trish.

"How about you, Mac?" Frank asked.

"I want the steak," she said in an eager voice.

"How do you like it cooked?"

"Rare."

"That's my girl," and Frank lit the grill.


	4. Chapter 4

[A/N] I want to thank everyone who has taken the time to read my story. I'm speechless at the numbers of "reads" that it has racked up. In answer to the question about Sergei, and to clarify the notes leading into Chapter 1: Harm and Mac returned from Russia at the start of season four, and Sergei didn't materialize until the start of season 6. That is a two year time gap. As far as how that eventuality would be handled: I have a story in mind to cover it.

* * *

Chapter 4

Saturday, 10 October, 1998  
2015 PDT  
Burnett Residence  
La Jolla, CA

Dinner on the patio had been wonderful. Harm had opened up and shared some of his memories of growing up in La Jolla. Harm had attended La Jolla High School where he had been captain of his school's baseball and basketball teams, as well as the student body president, and a member of the National Honor Society.

For Mac, who had had no family life to speak of, sitting around the table and talking was enjoyable.

By the time the table had been cleared, the sun had long since set. While Trish and Mac loaded the dishwasher, Frank and Harm attended to the grill, which Frank insisted on keeping spotless.

With the barbecue cleaned and put away, Frank lit the fire ring on the patio to ward off the evening chill.

"Care for another drink, Harm?" asked Frank, who could hardly believe that the once skinny kid had become such a fine looking man.

"Please," and Harm accepted the martini.

"Harm, I can read a face, and you'd be a lousy poker player. Did something happened in Russia that you're not telling your mother?"

Harm's silence spoke volumes.

"For God sake, Harm. Is your dad alive?"

"No, Frank. He's dead."

"I spent my life working in the auto industry, so I know a thing or two about keeping secrets. If you are holding something back, the chances are that someone already knows the truth."

"My father is dead," was all that Harm would say.

"Alright, son. We'll leave it at that," and Frank drained his glass. "Your mother has a special showing at the gallery tomorrow, so you're welcome to join me in a round of golf with Doctor Shapiro."

"The proctologist? I never felt comfortable bending down to pick up a golf ball around him. Mac and I may head into San Diego tomorrow."

"That sounds like fun." Frank wanted to ask Harm more about his relationship with Mac, but he remembered Trish's hands-off policy. When it came to her son, Trish's word was law.

Harm spoke up. "Frank, I need to talk to you."

"What's on your mind?"

"I want to pay back the cash that I lost in Russia. I'll need a few months to get the money together."

Frank shook his head. "I gave that money to you. I never expected to get it back. When your mother and I leave this world, everything that we have is yours. Consider that money as a head start."

Harm blurted out, "Frank, I'm sorry for the way I treated you for all of those years. You deserved my respect, and I didn't give it to you."

"You were never disrespectful to me, Harm. Not even once. When I married your mother, I knew that in your eyes I'd never measure up to your father. I just wanted to be there when you needed me."

"You have always been there for me. I could kick myself for letting so many years with you slip away."

"I'm not dead yet! No matter what my doctor says, I plan to be around for a while longer."

"Good, because from now on you'll get better from me."

"I'm just happy that you and Mac are here with us." Frank rubbed his hands together. "Even with the fire, it's getting a bit cold for an old man like me. I'm going to head inside. Good night, son."

Both men got to their feet and shared an embrace. As much as Harmon Rabb wanted to do so, he couldn't bring himself to address his stepfather as "dad".

"Good night, Frank." After Frank had gone inside, Harm walked out to the car and retrieved his briefcase. He set the briefcase on the bar and removed his mother's copy of his father's DoD file.

Harm didn't bother to open the file- by now he knew it word for word. Although it was a CIA fabrication, Killed In Action in North Vietnam would have been a far better fate than falling into the clutches of the KGB.

_He couldn't have been more than 40, but in the photo Parlovski gave me, my dad looked 70. What did they do to him?_

Harm took the file to the fire ring and dropped it into the flames. When it had burned to ash, he shut of the gas and then sat alone on the darkened patio.

For some reason his mind drifted back to the first family vacation that he and his mother had taken with Frank.

They had gone to the to the Grand Canyon, and Harm sat in the backseat of Frank's Chrysler Imperial in absolute silence. When they stayed overnight in Williams AZ, Harm had an adjoining room which he never left, not even to eat dinner. When they drove to the South Rim the next morning, Harm didn't get out of the car.

To this day, he hadn't seen the canyon itself.

If Harm had said ten words during the drive to the Grand Canyon, he made up for it by saying only five during the long drive back home.

_And that was one of our better trips._

**_A/N. Harm had his conversation with his stepfather at age 35. It took me many more years to do the same thing. The dialog between the two men is nearly verbatim. _**

* * *

Trish walked into the study carrying clean linens and watched as Mac unfolded the sofa bed. "I always had trouble unfolding that thing," she said.

"It's no more difficult than field stripping an M4 carbine," the Marine answered.

"You're a special woman, Mac." Trish paused. "Rather than Mac, may I call you Sarah?"

"Of course you can," and Mac lifted the edges of the mattress so that Trish could put on the fitted sheet.

"I'm having a private showing at the gallery tomorrow. I'd be thrilled if you would come with me," said Trish.

"I haven't spoken with Harm about our plans, but I'm sure that he won't object. I'd love to come."

"Wonderful. It will be dressy-casual, and a luncheon will be served. I'm looking forward to spending the day with you."

_I wonder if Trish spent many afternoons with Diane?_

Mac hesitated. "I may be out of line, but what can you tell me about Diane Schonke?"

"Diane was a friendly girl, but pushy. During their Summer break, Harm invited some of his Academy classmates to stay with us. Bruce Carmichael, Jack Keeter, Luke Pendry, Sturgis Turner, and Diane. The boys were wonderful, all of them fine young men, but Diane fashioned herself as the queen bee."

"How did Harm feel about her?" asked Mac.

"Diane was my son's first love. Harm didn't date much in high school. I suppose that he was a bit old fashioned."

_Which is why he is sleeping here in the study, while I'm alone in the guest room._

Trish continued. "I felt that Diane was wrong for Harm. Their personalities were opposite, and opposites don't necessarily attract. Had they maintained a serious relationship, I believe that they would have split up sooner rather than later."

"I appreciate your candor."

"Then allow me to be blunt. When Harm learned that he wouldn't be returning to active flight status, his friends were there for him, except for Diane. When my son needed her the most, she was no where to be found. I never forgot that," and Trish began focusing on making the bed.

"Trish, I know that I'm prying into your personal life, but I'm curious how you and Harm Senior met?" Mac asked.

"You're not prying in the least. My girlfriend Victoria introduced us. Vicki is married to Bill Ross."

"Captain Ross? the skipper of the _Seahawk?" _

"That's right. Vicki arranged a blind date, and Harmon Rabb was the most handsome man I had ever seen- although I didn't care for his mustache. We went to see _The Longest Day. _Not the best choice of films for a date, but Harm enjoyed it."

Mac had seen the epic film, which featured no Marines, and she pictured Big Harm on the edge of his seat during the film. "How did the rest of the evening go?"

"After the movie, Harm and I went for ice cream. Harm was nothing at all like the high school boys I had dated. He was the perfect gentleman."

"No doubt due to his four years at the Naval Academy."

"As we sat together, I quickly discovered that Harm wasn't much of a conversationalist. When he did talk, it was mostly about was flying, which I knew nothing about. I just nodded and said 'yes' a lot."

Mac raised her eyebrows. "How did the evening end?"

"From the moment I met Harm, I had been looking forward to getting a goodnight kiss."

"And..." Mac asked.

"Instead of a kiss, Harm shook my hand. Then he requested permission to take me out on a second date. I thought it strange that such a good looking man had a boyish shyness about him."

_Like father, like son. _

"What happened on the second date?" Mac asked.

"Harm asked me to marry him."

Mac was shocked. "On your second date!"

"I admit to being surprised. Poor Harm. He seemed so uncomfortable that I wasn't sure if he was proposing or apologizing."

"But you said yes."

"Of course I said yes. Every girl dreams of finding Prince Charming, and I had found mine. Harmon Rabb swept me off my feet, and for as long as the two of us were together, my toes never touched the ground again. He was that kind of a man."

"That's so romantic."

"I had thought so, but Harm had already received orders to report to NAS San Diego. Our wedding was small, and our honeymoon was only a short weekend."

"How did you like being a Navy wife?"

"Everything about the Navy was new and exciting to me. I got involved in the usual base activities, and I did the expected charitable work. What I enjoyed most were the formal affairs. Harm looked so handsome in his dress whites, and I enjoyed showing him off to the wives of the other officers. I know that sounds childish, but I was barely a year out of high school."

"It's not childish at all," said Mac, who pictured Harmon and Patricia Rabb as a young couple.

"Harm was a marvelous dancer. He was 6-5, but for such a tall man he moved around the dance floor with a surprising grace. Honestly, that part of Navy life was like a fairy tale come true." Mac watched as Trish's pretty blue eyes glowed with the memory of her first year of marriage. "When I learned that I was pregnant, I was overjoyed. I was married to the man I loved, and now I was carrying his child. What more could a young wife want?" Trish looked at Mac. "That must sound strange to a career woman like yourself."

"Not at all. I just can't imagine feeling so complete."

"Do you want children, Sarah?"

"Very much. At JAG, Harriet Roberts is expecting her first child in May. Harriet is married to a sweet man, and I have to admit that I'm jealous. How did Harm take the news about the baby?"

"Harm was thrilled by the prospect of becoming a father. He doted on me. He even stopped smoking cigars around the house, which I thought was wonderful." Trish sighed. "Harm deployed when I was in my second trimester and he missed the birth."

"I'm sorry."

Trish shook her head slowly. "I was learning what being a Navy wife was really like."

"It's lonely."

Trish nodded in agreement. "Harm's first combat deployment was in the Spring of 1964. Harm was anxious. He and Tom and Bill were going to shoot down every MiG that Uncle Ho sent up."

"How did you feel about Harm deploying?"

"I was barely 20 years old and I had a 6 month old son and a husband who was going to be 8,000 miles away and flying combat missions every day."

"I can't begin to imagine what that was like for you."

"Harm's squadron flew it's first combat missions in July. Although it would soon become the focal point in all of our lives, this was the first time I ever heard the words 'Yankee Station'. I was no longer a little girl living in a fairy tale. I had to grow up, and I had to do it god damned fast, if you'll pardon my language."

"No apology needed." Mac wondered how she'd feel if it were Harm who deployed and she was left behind to wait for him?

"Before Harm deployed I gave him the tape recorder. At that time there was widespread belief that the war would be over quickly, so Harm and Tom spent a lot of time on those tapes just joking and kidding around. Tom was quite the prankster, and he was always getting into trouble."

"I've heard some of those tapes. Harm treasures them."

"When Harm returned home he applied for the Blue Angels Flight Demonstration team. I was thrilled when he was accepted. The Blue Angels are based at Pensacola, but during the off season they are stationed at NAS El Central, so Harm came home nearly every evening."

"I'm sure it gave him time to get to know his son."

Trish smiled. "Harm was a wonderful father. I used to laugh at the sight of that big man rolling around on the floor while he played with Little Harm. And Harm always showed patience with his son. I never heard him utter a cross word at Little Harm, and that boy was always up to some sort of mischief."

"It sounds like a wonderful period of your life."

Trish gave a heavy sigh. "It didn't last. A normal tour with the Blue Angels was for three years, but after the second year, Harm became restless. The air war in Vietnam was in full swing, and the members of his old squadron were racking up hundreds of combat hours. Being a Blue Angel was an honor, but Harm was a career naval officer and he needed combat time."

"That must have been difficult for you to accept."

"When Harm resigned from the Blue Angeles and requested immediate assignment to a combat squadron, I was upset. But as a good Navy wife, I never said a word- or not many."

"You're a strong woman, Trish."

"Harm was offered the chance to become a flight instructor at Pensacola. I wanted him to stay stateside, but he insisted on going back into the fleet."

"Instructor is an excellent billet. I'm a bit surprised that he didn't accept."

"His squadron was going to transition from the F-8 to the F-4 Phantom, which was the Navy's most advance fighter. Every aviator wanted to fly the F-4, and they all wanted to take it into combat. Harm had already sat out two combat deployments with the Blue Angeles, while Tom and Bill, and Al Cherry and Gary Grissom were going to deploy again. Harm had an obligation to the Navy, but he felt a clear sense of duty to be with his friends."

"I can understand that," said Mac, who had gone with Harm to Russia for many of the same reasons.

"Flight training in the F-4 took place at Yuma. Harm and Tom and Bill would drive into San Diego on Friday afternoons and then drive back to Yuma on Sunday nights. I knew that when Harm's training was completed he'd going back into combat, so I literally waited at the door on Friday nights, and then on Sunday nights I cried myself to sleep in an empty bed."

"I can't imagine how painful that must have been for you."

"Sarah, I've never told this to anyone, not even to my own son. Harm's deployment aboard the _Ticonderoga _in the Summer of 1969 was the worst for me. By that time the pilots had become frustrated by the rules of engagement, and with the way that the war was being run. Worse still was that by then the North Vietnamese had received sophisticated SAM missiles and modern fighters. Hundreds of Navy and Air Force pilots had been shot down, and many of them were being held as prisoners of war under appalling conditions. I was terrified at the prospect of Harm deploying under those circumstances."

"Trish, you don't have to say any more."

"No, it's time that someone hears the story. Harm had promised me that when he returned home in 1970 he would accept the instructor position at Pensacola. It was a three year billet, and I felt certain that the war would be over by then. Even so, as Little Harm and I stood on the dock and waved goodbye to the _Ticonderoga_, I had a premonition that something horrible was going to happen during that deployment."

Mac was at a loss for words. She had come to San Diego especially to be with Trish, but the story was becoming too painful to listen to.

"The news that Harm had been shot down was devastating. I tried to shield Little Harm from as much of it as I could, but he understood what had happened. I decided that any news I heard about his father, I would pass along as quickly as I could."

"I think that was best," admitted Mac.

"The first test of my resolve came quickly. The Air Force had recovered Howard Gibson's body from the crash site. I barely knew 'Hoot', but his funeral service was held here in San Diego at Fort Rosecrans National Cemetery and I was expected to attend. The Gibson's were an older couple and Hoot was their only child. Despite their loss, they told me that they would pray every night that Harm would be found alive and return home safely. I found that touching."

"I'm glad that you had so much support."

"Naval aviation is a close knit community. I had support from the navy, and from the members of Harm's squadron. When Tom Boone was stationed at Miramar, he'd drop by and lend a hand around the house. On the weekends he'd sometimes take Little Harm to a San Diego Padres baseball game."

"I'm sorry, but I've met Captain Boone. It's hard for me to picture him as being so...well, considerate," said Mac.

"Tom changed after Harm was shot down. He became cynical. Tom seemed to blame himself for the shoot down, although I never understood why," said Trish, who began stuffing pillows into the pillow cases.

"I can't imagine what you went through raising a small child by yourself."

"The first years were difficult, but I held out hope that Harm was alive. After our involvement in Vietnam ended and Harm was still missing, I knew that it was hopeless to imagine he'd ever come home. When I took the first step and declared his father dead, my son was boiling with anger. When I married Frank, it only got worse. This sounds horrible, but now that Big Harm has been officially declared KIA, all of us can finally move forward with our lives."

"Trish, no one has earned the right to judge you. Not after all you've been through."

"Harm's grandmother went through worse. Sarah Harmon Rabb lost her husband, and her son."

Mac was anxious to lighten the mood. "She's the first Sweet Sarah."

Trish smiled. "I see that you know the story behind that name."

"I know that Harm Senior's Phantom was _Sweet Sarah, _and I've been up in _Sarah, _Harm's Stearman."

"Big Harm had suggested naming his Phantom _Trish The Dish,_ but I didn't like that name at all, so he named his plane after his mother. After all, the Rabb men love their aircraft. Maybe more than they love their ladies," admitted Trish.

Mac thought back to their JAG investigations and how quickly Harm became distracted by aviation activities. "You're exaggerating, but not by much." Mac looked around the study. "I think we have this room squared away."

"Please sit down, dear," and Trish had Mac sit on the bed next to her. "My years with Big Harm were magic, but they were cut short. He's gone, but when I look at my son I think that Big Harm has never left me."

_Based on everything you have told me, the two men are so much alike that it's scary_.

"When Little Harm wanted to go to Vietnam to search for his father, I helped to arrange the necessary paperwork. When he was nominated to Annapolis, I contacted every naval officer who I thought might help him to obtain their letters of recommendation. _Anything_ that my son wanted, if it was in my power to give, he received."

"You've been a wonderful mother."

Trish put her arms around Mac. "I swore to never get involved in my son's personal life, but I want you to know that there is a place in my family for another Sweet Sarah."

Mac had come to San Diego to offer her support to Trish, but instead of consoling her, Mac found herself crying in her arms.


	5. Chapter 5

[A/N] I continue to be overwhelmed by the interest in this story, which has outperformed my previous action stories by a huge margin. My continued thanks go to those who have taken the time to read it, and especially those of you who have left a review.

* * *

Chapter 5

Harm finished unpacking, and then showered and changed into white boxer shorts and a white undershirt. He placed a stack of San Diego travel brochures on the end table next the Sony tape player, and then began scanning the study's bookcase until he spotted the photo album he wanted.

Harm was relaxing on the sofa bed when heard a knock on the door. "Come in."

"I saw your light was on," said Mac, who wearing a teal colored, round-neck flannel nightgown.

The nightgown was ankle length, and Harm couldn't help but laugh. "Is that what you sleep in?"

"Yes, it is (_when I'm alone in bed- which was your choice). _Hatch open, or closed?"

"Close it." When Mac shut the door, Harm motioned for her to sit on the edge of the sofa-bed.

Mac saw the photo album. "Looking through some Rabb family memories?"

"These are photos of my dad taken while he was deployed. Sit down and I'll show them to you.

Harm patted to a spot next to him and Mac quickly slid next to him and watched as he opened the album.

The early photos were in B&W, but they were a virtual time capsule of 1960's naval aviation. The album's first color photos were of Harm Senior standing next to a Grumman F-11 Tiger, the single seat fighter that the Blue Angels were flying in the mid-1960's.

Mac's eyes went wide at the sight of Big Harm dressed in the blue and gold flight suit of a Blue Angel.

_My God, he was handsome. I'm sorry, Trish, but I like his mustache, _and Mac wondered if Harm would look equally good with one?

"You really do look like your dad," Mac said.

"People always tell me that, but I think that I looked more like my grandfather, Warren Rabb. He was killed during the Battle of Midway, flying off the old _Hornet_."

The next few pages had photos of flight deck operations, including launching and recovering vintage naval aircraft like the A-5 Vigilante. Harm identified each aircraft type, and explained what role it played in combat, but Mac didn't seem interested.

Harm skipped ahead to photos his father had taken during a liberty call in Hong Kong, which included photos of the ferry which carried passengers across Victoria Harbor.

Tom Boone was standing on the outside of the safety rail which along the edge of the ferry, and was hamming it up for the camera. The few next photos showed Tom being arrested by the Hong Kong Police.

"If I remember the story, it cost my dad fifty bucks to get Tom out of jail. Tom jumped bail in Hong Kong, and I'm not sure if he can ever go back."

The final pages of the album contained photos taken during the _USS Ticonderoga's _deployment in the Summer of 1969.

There were several photos of shipboard life, including photos of Harm Senior, Tom Boone, Bill Ross, Al Cherry, and Gary Grissom.

"This was Grissom's final deployment. In 1970 he went to work for Air America. He was 'sheep-dipped', and then flew in and out of Cambodia and Laos from Thailand. No one heard much from him until the fall of Saigon when a CIA Huey landed on the _Hornet_ and Grissom climbed out of it. He went back into the Navy and retired in 1990 as a captain.

The next few pages contained photos taken in Subic Bay.

"Subic Bay was the Pacific Fleets largest base. During the Vietnam era, over 200 ships a month stopped there. The base exchange had the highest volume of sales of any exchange in the world." Harm remembered the Christmas presents his father had sent to him from Subic Bay in the Fall of 1969. After the shoot down, the gifts sat unopened for several months.

Some of the photos were taken in nearby Olongapo City. Harm Senior, Tom, Bill, Al Cherry and Gary Grissom were shown piling out of a jeepney; a crude bus fabricated from a surplus military jeep. The little bus had stopped in front of Pauline's Bar, the largest night club in Olongapo.

"According to Tom and Bill, Pauline's was a US Navy institution. Pauline's had a pit out front which was surrounded by a low iron fence. A five foot long alligator lived in the pit, and it feasted on the ducklings which the locals sold to sailors and Marines."

Mac frowned at the photos of Tom and Bill feeding baby ducks to the reptile.

"The alligator was tame, but every once and a while a drunken sailor or jarhead would jump into the pit and get a chunk taken out of his ass."

"Is Pauline's still there?" asked Mac.

"Tom said it burned to the ground in early 1973. Some sort of electrical fire. It must have put a lot of girls out of work."

Mac scowled. "Perhaps they went to school and then found gainful employment at local shops or in offices."

Mac had climbed onto her high-horse, and Harm could barely contain his laughter.

"I suppose that you've been to Subic Bay?" she asked.

"By the time I got into the fleet, Olongapo City was a church camp."

The pair kept working through the album until they found a photo of Tom Boone taken after he had downed a MiG-21 Fishbed.

"That was Tom's only kill in Vietnam. It was VF-111's first kill in an F-4 Phantom, so Tom earned some overdue respect. I'd fly with Tom Boone any time...if he'd let me."

Mac looked at Harm. _Do you still want that life? If you went back into the fleet I'd never see you again._

More photos followed, including Harm Senior and his RIO, Hoot Gibson, standing in front of Sweet Sarah.

"Your dad's Phantom is pretty, but she's not beautiful like your Stearman," Mac said.

"My dad's F-4 was right off the production line. He and Tom flew to the McDonnell Douglas factory in St. Louis and ferried her back to NAS San Diego."

Harm thought back to the afternoon in 1969 when he watched while a crane hoisted his dad's F-4 onto the _Ticonderoga's_ flight deck.

"Sarah was in the intermediate maintenance shop on the day that my dad was shot down. (_If he'd been flying Sarah on Christmas Eve, he would have dodged that SAM, just like had dodged all of the others). _When she came out of the shop, Tom Boone flew her for the rest of his deployment."

"Is there any way to know what happened to her?" asked Mac.

"The Naval Historical Center in DC has cards on virtually every aircraft ever owned or operated by the Navy. Sarah survived the war and stayed in the fleet until she was retired and sent to the Aerospace Maintenance and Regeneration Center in Arizona where she was converted into a remote-controlled target drone. Sarah was shot down during a weapons test in June, 1992."

"That's sad."

Harm shrugged. "She went down flying. It's better than sitting on the ground and then being cut up for scrap."

The last two pages were photos of members of the Bob Hope USO troop who had come aboard the _Ticonderoga_ for a Christmas Day performance, including Jenny Lake, a popular singer in the late '60's. Harm knew that some of her albums were in the record cabinet in the living room.

The final photo in the album was of Harm Senior, Tom Boone, Bill Ross and Al Cherry. Tom and Bill were in the center of the photo, and holding a handwritten sign which read: _USS Ticonderoga. _Yankee Station, December, 1969

"That's a great photo," said Mac.

"After the shoot down, my dad's camera, and the undeveloped rolls of film, were returned along with the his personal effects. When my mom had the film developed and saw the finished prints, she cried. That was the first time I had actually seen her cry. I remember wanting to comfort her, but I was only 6 years old and I didn't know what to do, so I just let her hold me.

_Just like she held me on the patio._

"You're a good son, Harm." Mac wanted to lighten the mood. "I can't believe how young Captain Boone and Captain Ross looked in those photos. I guess Captain Boone went bald early."

"I can't remember Tom with a full head of hair. I grew up with Tom and Bill, but when my mom married Frank, they both stopped coming around. I missed seeing them."

"Did the same men fly together during the entire deployment?" Mac asked.

"The Navy kept individual crews together. Fighters flew what was called 'the loose deuce-flexible four', which was a flight of four aircraft, split into pairs. The flight leader and element leader are the ones to open fire on enemy aircraft. Their wingmen have defensive roles and provide cover. Al Cherry flew lead in the first element, with Bill Ross as his wingman. My dad flew lead in the second element with Tom Boone. As the deputy squadron commander, Buster commanded the flight of four aircraft."

"Buster?" asked Mac.

"That's Al Cherry's call sign."

"Al Buster Cherry? That's offensive. I thought that navy pilots had cool names like Maverick and Iceman."

"That's only in the movies. Each squadron has naming committee, and they decide what your call sign will be. It's usually based on your actual name, some screw up you've made, or something equally embarrassing."

"And your dad's call sign was Hammer, because his name was Harmon?"

"No. It was because he kept hammering his head while walking through passageways. My father was taller than I am, so he was constantly ducking his head aboard ship."

"And Captain Ross?" asked Mac.

"His call sign is 'Rooster'. It has to do with his hair, which used to be bright red."

"What's Captain Boone's call sign?" Mac asked.

"It's 'T-Bone'. During advanced flight training, Tom's T-28 lost engine power and he had to set it down in a farm field. A cow was directly in Tom's path, and he T-boned it."

"So how did you end up with 'Zapper'?

"That's a long story involving Luke and myself."

Mac's natural curiosity was to push for an answer, but she thought better of it. "What about names for female pilots?"

"They receive no special treatment. My favorite is Commander Marcia 'Mounds' Madison, a flight instructor at NAS Middleton Field. "

"Mounds. Because she has big boobs?"

"No, the name came from what she _didn't _have."

"I don't follow you."

"Think about candy bars." When Mac drew a blank, Harm said, "Almond Joy's got nuts...Mounds don't."

Mac climbed back onto her high horse. "It's a sickness! Commander Madison should have demand that her name be changed."

Harm shook his head. "If you bitch about your call sign, they'll change it to something worse, much worse."

"Is Captain Boone still called T-Bone?" Mac asked.

"By his contemporaries. I haven't heard him called anything but CAG." Harm set the photo album aside and then he smiled at Mac. "I'm glad that you came with me. Having you here has made it all a lot easier."

"Your mother took the news remarkably well."

"The story about my dad being KIA in North Vietnam confirmed what she had always wanted to believe."

"How are you holding up?"

"My dad has always been a big part of my life, and it has been hard to grasp that he's actually dead. While my dad was MIA he continued to draw full pay and benefits. When my mother married Frank, I continued to receive a monthly allotment. I saved that money and used to finance my trip to Vietnam to look for him."

Mac was impressed with Harm's level of maturity at such a young age. "Most boys would have spent it on a new car."

"When we get back to DC, I'll have to arrange a settlement with the DoD for his accumulated pay. It will take a CPA to sort it out."

"Do you have plans for the money?"

"I was going to use some of it to pay back Frank for the cash we lost in Russia. He refused it, so I'm going to donate a portion of it to the USO."

"Harmon Rabb Junior, I am proud of you." Mac wrapped her arms around Harm, and he instinctively pulled her to him.

Mac's nipples were hard, and they were poking through the material of her nightgown and into his chest. Harm gently slid his hands along her body, and he was surprised by the narrowness of her waist. When Harm's hands came to rest on her hips, Mac's enormous brown eyes were eager in anticipation.

They kissed, but Harm was hesitant. Mac trailed her lips gently across his cheek and then whispered in his ear, "It's okay, Harm."

Harm kissed her again, only this time with desire.

Mac looked into his eyes. "I want you so much," and she began lifting her nightgown.

When the hemline had reached mid-thigh, Harm pulled away and opened up space between them.

"Sarah, I can't. Not here. Not like this."

Mac dropped her nightgown and moved away to the edge of the bed. "Are you punishing me, or yourself?" she demanded.

"It was not my intention to do either."

Mac was exasperated. "I thought that when we came back from Russia we'd move forward, but we're at a standstill."

Harm ignored what Mac had said and grabbed some travel brochures from the end table

"Would you like to go to Sea World tomorrow, or Balboa Park? The Park has a wonderful air and space museum," and Harm's eyes lit up at the thought of visiting the museum.

Mac pushed the brochures aside. "Trish invited me to her gallery tomorrow. I'm spending the day with her."

"I think that's great. The two of us can go the air and space museum later this week."

"Pardon me while I contain my excitement."

"Mac-"

"For the life of me, I don't understand what's going on. Actually, I don't understand why _nothing _is going on. Is it because you don't find me attractive?"

"Mac, anything that you don't have, no woman would ever need," explained Harm.

"Then what is it? Are you afraid of me?" Harm gave Mac a deer in the headlights look. "Jesus Christ, Harm. You've got more secrets than Webb. Spit it out!" she demanded.

_It's because my father and my grandfather each left behind a young widow to raise a small child alone. I can't bear the thought of the same thing happening to you._

"Do we have to talk about this here?" asked Harm.

"Is it because of all of the wonderful memories you have of being here with Diane?"

"You've been bringing up Diane since we got into the rental car. Now you act like she's alive and is living in this house. It doesn't make any sense."

"What doesn't make sense is that you've slept with her, but you'll barely touch me."

"It's only because I respect you-"

"Don't bullshit me. Men give that line to the women who they don't want to be romantically involved with."

Harm took hold of Mac's hands. "Sarah, that's not close to being the truth."

Mac pulled her hands way. "Harm, right now, you and I are on different planets."

Harm sighed. "We're both tired from the flight and the time change. Go with my mother tomorrow and have a good time. The gallery is closed on Mondays, so she'll take Frank to his doctor's appointment. After that they'll go to the club and have lunch with their friends."

"Where do we fit in?"

"I know a place where we can be alone. You and I will sit down and discuss anything that you want, for as long as you want." Harm saw Mac scowling at him. "I've never taken Diane there."

Mac shrugged. "Fine. Of course I don't think that was what the Admiral had in mind when he gave us the five days leave."

"We can fly home tomorrow night and be at our desks on Monday morning," and he smiled at her.

When Mac saw Harm's flyboy smile, she gave up.

_Why fight it?_

Mac gave Harm a playful punch on the shoulder. "I felt a bit guilty, I didn't say that I had gone insane. Besides, I never had a family vacation. When my dad got leave, he'd just lay on the couch watching TV and drinking beer."

_When he wasn't beating my mother._

"When my mother married Frank, they had to drag me kicking and screaming on vacation with them. I ruined so many trips that they began sending me to stay with my grandmother. That was what I wanted, but I made everyone miserable in the process."

"You were a kid, Harm. You can't hold yourself to an adult standard for the things you did as a child," Mac explained.

"I knew what I was doing. I have apologized to Frank for my past behavior. With his bad heart, I'm glad I finally told him."

"Frank is a wonderful man. I enjoyed our walk together." Mac paused. "Harm, Frank loves your mother, and he loves you. The two of you are his family."

"I know that." Harm was anxious to change the subject. "What did you and my mom talk about?"

_First we talked about Diane, your first love. News flash: your mother didn't like her. After that, Trish shared things about her personal life which I will never divulge to_ _you. Finally, your mother said she'd like me to become a part of her family. Of course you've taken no positive __steps towards making that happen. _

"Just some girl talk. Trish told me how she met your dad."

"It was on a blind date arranged by Vicki Ross. My parents went to see _The Longest Day."_ Harm's voice became excited. "I'll bet that Frank has it on DVD. Do you want to watch it tonight?"

Mac began rubbing her temple. _Dear God, give me strength._

"Not tonight." Mac spotted the tape player sitting on the end table. "Is that the tape that Webb gave you?"

Mac had the curiosity of a cat, so it was senseless trying to ignore the tape any longer. "It's a recording of my dad's final mission in Vietnam. It's the shoot down."

There was a long silence. "Can I listen to it?"

Harm took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Webb never said it was eyes-only, but don't tell my mother that it exists. This shouldn't be the final time that she hears my father's voice." Harm passed Mac the tape player and the headphones.

Mac didn't have an aviation background, so she didn't understand much of the dialog. Even so, the horror of Harm Senior being shot down and helpless on the ground crossed all barriers.

When the tape concluded, Mac looked shocked. "Harm, Captain Boone...he was crying."

Harm took a deep breath and let it out. "Mac, the real reason that men don't want women in combat is because we don't want you to see us cry."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Dinner in the Rabb-MacKenzie household was always chore. Little Harm wouldn't eat meat, while his younger sister Patty liked nothing better than hamburger doused in ketchup.

Preparing separate meals was a bother, but Mac felt that her children deserved as much of her time as she could give to them.

"Hamburger is dead cow. That's why Daddy and I won't eat meat," Little Harm told his sister.

"It is not dead cow," insisted Patricia MacKenzie Rabb, who had the same big brown eyes as her mother.

"Is so."

"Mommy, is hamburger from dead cows?" Patty asked.

Mac sighed. Her husband started this beef nonsense, but with Big Harm handling an investigation aboard the _Seahawk,_ she was left to sort it out.

"Yes, Patty. Hamburger does come from cows, but those cows were raised to be our food."

"See, I told you," and Little Harm broke into a wide smile. Harmon Rabb III could flash the same smile as his father, a smile which could undo any wrong that the young boy might commit.

Grandmother Trish Burnett had told Mac, "Dear god, he has the Rabb smile. There is no defense against it."

Little Harm was tall for his age, and he seemed thin. Mac felt that her son didn't eat enough. "Harm, would you like some more pasta salad?"

"No more for me, thank you," answered the boy, who seemed on his way to becoming an officer and a gentleman.

"I'd like more hamburger, Mommy," said Patty.

Mac felt her daughter was a bit too plump and she tried to structure her meals accordingly. "You've had enough, sweetie."

"Fatty, Patty," teased Harm.

"Harmon, stop that this instant," snapped Mac. "I want you to apologize to your sister."

"I'm sorry, Patty."

"Mommy, when is Daddy coming home?" Patty asked.

"In a few more days. Right now he's on a big aircraft carrier where he's doing important work for the Admiral."

Mentioning the Admiral brought a hush to the table. So far as the Rabb children were concerned, A.J. Chegwidden wielded more power than the President of the United States.

Little Harm announced, "I'm going to the Naval Academy, just like Daddy and Grandpa Rabb, and the Admiral."

"Go ahead and be a squid," said Patty. "I'm going to be a Marine, like Mommy. And then I'm going shoot lots of guns, 'cause that's what Marines do, isn't it, Mommy?"

"Yes, sweetie. You'll do plenty of shooting in the Corps."

"Well, I'm going to be an aviator like daddy, and grandpa, and great grandpa. You can't fly, because you're a girl," said Little Harm.

"I can too! There are lots of girl pilots, and some of them are famous."

"Name one," said Harm.

"Amanda Earnhardt."

"There is no such person."

"Mommy!"

"Sweetie, you are thinking of Amelia Earhart. And yes, there are female pilots, including some who are Marines. You can become a pilot, but only if you study really hard and bring up your grades."

"I got all A's again," Little Harm said in a smug voice.

Before Patty could speak up, Mac said, "I want you both the clear the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher." Seeing no action, Mac snapped her fingers, which sounded like a rifle shot. "Jump to it!" and the kids moved with a purpose.

Mac was cleaning the table top when she heard the doorbell. She was surprised to find Admiral Chegwidden at the door along with Lt. Bud Roberts.

"Admiral, Bud. What brings the two of you out here on a Sunday night?"

The kids raced out of the kitchen at the sound of the two officers names. "Hello Admiral. Hi, Uncle Bud," they said in unison.

The Admiral spoke up. "Sarah, I need to speak to you alone. Lt. Robert's, take the children upstairs." It was clearly and order and not a request. While avoiding looking directly at Mac, a solemn faced Bud Roberts hustled the kids upstairs to Little Harm's room.

A confused Mac led the Admiral into the living room and sat down next to him on the sofa. "I spoke with Harm this afternoon on one of the 'Sailor Phones' which the Navy Exchange Service installed aboard the _Seahawk_. The investigation is proceeding normally."

The Admiral, who appeared old and very tired, took a deep breath and finally said, "Sarah...there has been an accident. Harm is dead."

Mac didn't bat an eye. "That isn't possible. I told you that I spoke to him by phone today."

"It was a plane crash."

"Harm isn't due to leave the ship for three more days," Mac said matter of fact.

"He wasn't aboard the COD. An F-14 had come out of intermediate maintenance, and Captain Boone took the plane up for a check flight with Harm riding along in the backseat. There was a compressor stall and the plane went into a flat spin. It was unrecoverable. Boone punched them both out, but Harm's canopy malfunctioned. The seat-breaker shattered the canopy, but Harm was unconscious when he hit the water. He was tangled in the shroud lines of his parachute when the rescue swimmers reached him. They were unable to revive him in the helicopter. He drown."

"None of that is possible. Captain Boone would never let anything bad happen to Harm. When Captain Boone was a Top Gun instructor, he took Harm to baseball games."

"Boone came down several hundred yards away from Harm. He has a broken back and may never walk again."

Chegwidden looked at Mac's face and he saw a look of total denial. Nothing he had said to her had registered. Mac had no family to speak of, and as far as Chegwidden knew she had no friends outside of JAG.

"Sarah, is there someone I can call to come over and stay with you and the kids? Anyone at all?"

"We don't need anyone. I just need to talk to Harm," and Mac reached for her cell phone.

"Sarah, don't do that," and the Admiral took the phone.

Mac grabbed for the phone. "I need to call Harm!"

Patty came running down the stairs with Bud in hot pursuit. "Mommy, I want some Juice."

"Go back up stairs with Uncle Bud," Mac demanded.

"But I want some juice."

Mac had shrieked, "I said to go back upstairs," when she found herself sitting upright in the bed of the guest room.

Mac's heart was racing. She needed several seconds to calm down, and then she had to be sure. She slid out of bed and walked quietly down the hall to the study. The door was unlocked and Mac cracked it open and peered inside the room. It was dark, but there was enough light for her to make out Harm's form sleeping on the mattress, and his size-13 feet sticking out from under the sheet.

To reassure herself that he was really there, Mac considered going into the room and climbing into bed next to Harm. Would he literally kick her out of bed? Thinking back to their most recent conversation, Mac wasn't sure that he wouldn't.

Mac closed the door softly and then made her way back to the guest room to change into her running clothes.

She wanted to get out of the house, but first she needed a cup of strong coffee.

Frank was in the kitchen and was dressed in blue Adidas warm ups. "Good morning, Mac," he said in a cheerful voice. "How about a cup of coffee?"

"I'd love one. Make it black, and I hope it's strong."

"My coffee strong enough to walk out of this house." Frank poured Mac a cup and motioned for her to join him at the kitchen table.

The coffee was the tonic that Mac needed to clear the nightmare from her head. "I'm surprised to see you up this early."

"I go to bed early and get up early. By the time Trish climbs out of bed half the day has been wasted."

"Harm likes to sleep in, but I'm out of the rack by 0545," said Mac.

"I enjoy starting my day with a walk. Would you care to join me? Unless of course you don't want to be seen with an old man."

"There's no old man here. I'd love to join you, but I don't want to get you out of your routine."

"A break in my routine would be appreciated. Let the Rabb's get their beauty rest while the two of us get some exercise."

When the pair stepped outside, the early morning air was damp but not cold. It was good weather for walking, and Frank set a fast pace.

As they moved through the Ellen Scripps Browning Park, Mac was concerned he was over doing it.

"My doctor keeps telling me not to do anything more strenuous than driving a golf cart, but I can keep this up for an hour," said Frank.

They made a loop along Coast Blvd and came back on Prospect. Mac was surprised by the number of people out walking on a Sunday morning, and she noticed that Frank was acknowledging many of them.

"You seem to be well known in these parts," Mac said.

"They are just wondering why I'm out walking with such a pretty young girl."

The Carlton Café had just opened, so they stopped in for breakfast. "This is my secret morning stop, so don't tell Trish," Frank said.

"My lips are sealed," and they stepped inside.

With its red upholstery and lots of chrome, the café was slightly retro. Frank took what was his regular booth, and their server quickly appeared. She was a middle aged woman who looked somewhat matronly, and she had a friendly smile.

"Good morning, Kitty," said Frank.

"Good morning, Frank."

The familiarity in their voices made it obvious that she had worked in the café for many years. Kitty looked over at Mac and exclaimed, "Diane! Oh my goodness. I haven't seen you in ages. Are you in La Jolla to finally tie the knot with Harm?"

Mac growled and bit her lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

Frank quickly spoke up. "Kitty, this is Sarah MacKenzie. She's staying with us this week."

"I'm very sorry, but there certainly is a resemblance." Kitty handed the pair their menus, poured their coffee and then fled.

"I'm sorry about that," said Frank.

_Diane is haunting me from the grave. It was her who gave me that nightmare._

"It's happened before," said Mac, who began looking over the menu. "What do you recommend?"

"The corned beef hash is very good."

"My father was a Marine. After a decade of C-Rats he wouldn't allow hash to be served in his house. I'll have the ham steak with scrambled eggs...hard scrambled."

Kitty approached the booth cautiously to refill the coffee. She spoke directly to Frank, while avoiding eye contact with Mac. "Have you decided?"

"Two orders of ham and eggs, hard scrambled," and Kitty made her exit.

"She seems to be afraid of me," said Mac.

"Kitty's daughter, Tina, and Harm went to school together. Kitty imagined something would happen between the two of them, but Harm was a very focused young man and he didn't date much in school. Harm met Diane at Annapolis, and you know that story."

_Tina is just one more bitch in Harm's harem._

Looking to change the subject, Frank said, "So your father was a Marine?"

"Staff Sergeant Joe MacKenzie. 3rd Platoon, Company B, 3rd Battalion, 3rd Marines."

"Did he serve in Vietnam?"

"He did two tours, one in 1965 and another in 1967. His last tour was cut short when he was seriously wounded on Hill 861 during what became known as The Hill Fights. He was sent stateside and after he recovered, he was placed on the Permanent Disability Retired List."

"He must have been a great Marine."

Mac held up her hand. "Don't make my father out to be a hero. He beat my mother so badly, and so often, that she ran away. My father is a miserable drunk, and he's the reason that I'm a drunk. I haven't seen him in years."

Frank took Mac's hand and he said gently, "You and I will never speak of him again."

Their breakfasts arrived and they were huge.

By the time Kitty cleared the table, Mac was stuffed. "I don't know how I'll manage to eat lunch at the gallery this afternoon."

"Not to worry. Trish's overpriced caterer specializes in tiny servings. I'm just glad that you are going with her. I can't stand those gallery affairs."

"Yes, but the two of you have so much fun doing other things together, like all of the traveling and the cruises."

Frank nodded in agreement. "It's been a great life with Trish. And despite our early ups and downs, a great life with Harm."

Kitty came to the table and set the check down beside Frank. She looked at Mac and said, "I didn't mean to offend you. I'm very sorry."

"It is quite alright," and Mac gave the waitress a friendly smile. Mac pulled out her coin purse, carefully unfolded a few bills, and then reached for the check. "As your guest, let me buy your breakfast."

Frank wouldn't hear of it.

"Mac, you're not staying with us as our guest. Trish and I think of you as our..." and Frank remembered Trish insisting that there be no meddling in Harm's personal life. "Trish and I will never know what really took place inside Russia, but your being there made a difference. We can never repay you for that."

"Spending this coming week with both of you is repayment enough."

Frank looked at his watch. "By now the Rabb's will be up and moving, so we should head back. Hopefully we can squeeze in a few more walks before you and Harm have to leave."

"Just try to get out of the house in the morning without me," and Frank smiled at Mac.

It was the kind of smile that a young Sarah MacKenzie imagined her own father giving her...but never did.

"I received straight A's this semester, Daddy," Sarah told her father who was laying half-drunk on the couch when she came home from high school.

"All of that studying is a waste of time. Why does a little tramp like you need an education? You won't amount to anything."

"I am not a tramp!" insisted Sarah, who was still a virgin.

"Bullshit. I'm surprised that you're not already knocked up. I hope that the guy who does it won't be as stupid as I was with your mother and marry you. Now do something useful. Bring me a beer, and then rub my feet."

"I don't give a damn about your feet, and you can hoist your drunk ass of off the couch and get your own beer!" and Sarah ran to her room.

"You're a worthless tramp, just like your mother," Joe shouted after her. "Did you hear me, Sarah? You're a worthless little tramp!"

Frank set a $50 bill onto the table. As he and Mac headed for the door, Kitty called out, "Goodbye, Frank. It was nice to meet you, Sarah. I hope that you'll come back again."

_Of course I'll come back. I want to be a part of this family so badly, but what do I have to do for Harm to allow me in?_

* * *

Harm had showered and shaved, and then slipped into his Academy warm ups before heading to the kitchen.

"Good morning, Darling."

"Good morning, Mom," and Harm gave his mother a kiss on the cheek before reaching for the coffee pot.

"I wouldn't drink that," Trish cautioned. "Frank brewed it, and you know how strong he makes it. I'll brew a fresh pot."

"Don't bother. I'll have some herbal tea."

"Sit down at the table and I'll bring it to you. What would you like for breakfast?"

"Yogurt and fresh fruit would be fine."

Trish went to the refrigerator and removed a large dish of plain yogurt, which she set down in front of Harm along with a bowl and a spoon. She moved to the counter, reached into a paper bag and removed a juicy pear, which was one of her son's favorite fruits.

Trish was slicing the pear when Harm spoke up. "Mom, I can do that myself."

"It's no trouble."

The kettle began whistling. Trish prepared the tea and after slicing a second pear for Harm, she sat at the table next to him.

Patricia Rabb Burnett adored her son, and Harmon Rabb Jr. worshiped the ground that his mother walked on.

When Harm had finished eating his breakfast, Trish said, "I want to talk to you about Sarah."

"Grandma?"

Trish scowled at her son. "No, Harmon. Not your grandmother. I want to talk to you about Mac. The two of us had a long talk last night," and Harm's felt an ache in the pit of his stomach.

"Is there something wrong with Mac?" Harm asked in mock concern.

When Trish and Frank first met Mac, they felt she was the right woman for Harm. Frank had never made it a secret, but until now, Trish had never been this direct.

Trish heaved a sigh. When it came to discussing anything serious, Harm was exactly like his father, who seldom addressed personal matters head on.

"As I said, Sarah and I talked last night, and I feel that the two of you are-" but before Trish could continue, the sliding glass door opened and Frank and Mac stepped into the kitchen.

Harm jumped to his feet. "Frank, Mac, it's good to see both of you. You must have gone out for a walk. Sit down at the table and tell me all about it."

While Frank and Mac described their morning walk, Trish sat by quietly and wondered what the future held for her son, and how she could ensure that Sarah MacKenzie would be a big part of it.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N-1 The delayed release of Chapter 6 resulted in dozens of new readers discovering my story. I appreciate all of you, but especially the veterans (and sons of veterans) who are reading and enjoying it. I consider myself to be an action writer, so I was out of my comfort zone in much of this chapter. csincisfan01 not only helped me, but provided some fine story ideas. Thank you, Angela. This chapter could not have come together without you.

A/N-2 Another JAG writer has given the nickname "Grams" to Harm's grandmother, Sarah Rabb (called Sarah Harmon Rabb in my stories). It is not my intention to plagiarize, but because I called my own grandmother Grams (or Grammy), I claim fair use of the name.

* * *

After discussing the morning walk, Frank announced, "Everyone is on their own for dinner tonight, but I'll reserve a table for four at La Fontanne for tomorrow night."

Trish spoke up. "I can't go out tomorrow night. I'll need to have my hair done, and my nails, and..."

"You'll have all day to do it."

"But I always drive you to the doctor and then I pick you up."

"I can drive myself to the doctor and I can find my own way home."

Trish looked at Mac. "Sarah, how about a spa day tomorrow? After that we'll get our hair and nails done."

Mac hesitated. Tomorrow was the day that she and Harm were supposed to have a frank discussion about their relationship. She glanced over at Harm, who appeared to be willing her to go to the spa.

Mac was caught between a rock and a hard place. She didn't want to let Harm off the hook, but Trish was the reason that she was in La Jolla. More to the point, Mac couldn't risk offending Harm's mother because she was the key to getting to Harm.

"Trish, I'd love to go with you." Mac glanced back at Harm, who seemed overcome with relief that their talk was going to be pushed back.

"Wait until you taste the prime rib, Mac. It's the best in Southern California," said Frank.

"La Fontanne also has an excellent mahi-mahi," Trish volunteered.

Frank shook his head. "Mac, promise me that you won't order an entrée that swims or flies."

"You have my word as a Marine Corps officer to order only land-based animals."

"That's my girl."

_'That's my girl'. What I would have given to have had my father say that to me._

"Dinner is on the table, Daddy," said a teenage Sarah MacKenzie. With her mother gone, Sarah was trying to manage the household, but her father's heavy drinking was making him impossible to deal with.

"Another god damned TV dinner I suppose?"

"It's the first of the month. Your pension check was deposited so I made pork chops and mashed potatoes. I know it's your favorite."

"Who the hell told you that you knew how to cook? I ate better in the Corps than the slop you serve."

"Then leave it on the table and let it rot. You're not worth the time it takes to boil a three minute egg."

"How dare you talk to me like that, you ungrateful little slut."

"I hate you! I hate you..."

"Any plans for tomorrow afternoon, Harm?" Frank asked.

"Admiral Chegwidden was kind enough to give Mac and I five days leave, so I should check in with the office."

"Chegwidden is a good man. He's always up front about everything. I like him," said Frank.

"He's the best CO I've ever had. It won't be the same at JAG when he retires."

"I'm sure that the Admiral has been grooming you to step into his shoes," said Trish.

"Mom, I have a long way to go before The Navy Department would consider me for Judge Advocate General."

"You'd be surprised at what the higher ups are considering," said Frank, who at one time seemed destined to become the President of Chrysler Motors.

Trish spoke up. "The only thing that Sarah and I need to consider is whether we will be ready in time to go to the gallery. Sarah, we have a little more than two hours to prep, I suggest that we get moving."

"Aye aye, ma'am," and the ladies made their way to their respective rooms.

Frank told Harm, "Drop by the club at around 3 o'clock for lunch and drinks." He liked to showoff his fighter pilot/lawyer stepson to the club members.

"I'll be there."

As the only member of the household with nothing to do, Harm returned to the study, got out his laptop and settled down to do some work.

* * *

The guest room had been Harm's old bedroom. The bathroom was small, the mirror on the medicine cabinet was tiny and poorly lit, and Mac didn't even want to talk about closet space because there was none. It was clearly a boy's room.

Marines adapt and overcome, and Mac completed her prep with several minutes to spare.

_Thank god for short hair._

Staying with Trish and Frank meant going out to clubs and fancy restaurants, so Mac had packed accordingly: 4 semi-formal dresses and 5 shirt and blouse combos, along with Capris and t-shirts for more casual wear. She's also brought along 2 bikinis. The weather along the beaches in San Diego wasn't especially warm, but there was always the pool.

Knowing that Trish would be nicely dressed, Mac narrowed her choice of dresses to the red cocktail dress with its plunging neckline, or a slightly less formal navy blue dress which had a more reasonable neckline, but highlighted her curves.

Harm loved the red dress, but he wasn't going to be at the gallery, so Mac would reserve it for the following evening when they'd be together at the restaurant.

The room didn't have a full length mirror, and Mac was doing her best to check the blue dress for wrinkles when she heard a knock on the door.

"Sarah, it's Trish. May I come in?"

Trish was wearing a light blue Donna Karen dress which was cut at the neck to show off an exquisite diamond necklace. She was holding a blue oval jewelry case which she set on the dresser. Trish opened the case to reveal an 18" necklace comprised of 7mm and 8mm pearls, along with matching studs and a bracelet.

Mac loved pearls, but a set like that was beyond her means. "Those are from Mikimoto. Frank has excellent taste."

Trish held up the necklace and said, "They aren't from Frank. Big Harm purchased these for me in Hong Kong. I'd like you to have them."

Mac jumped back as though Trish was holding a snake.

_Did Harm Senior send those pearls home for Christmas? God almighty. Were they under the tree on Christmas Eve when the doorbell rang?_

Mac did her upmost to stay calm. "I'm sorry, but I can't accept such a lavish gift."

Trish had never approved of the girls Harm had brought home, but Mac was different- Mac was going to be family. "Will you at least wear them? It would mean a great deal to me."

The look on Trish's face was the same look that Mac would see on Harm's face when he was sincere about something.

_Go on MacKenzie. Break Harm's mother's heart. _

Mac took a deep breath. "I'd be honored to wear your pearls," and Trish's blue eyes light up the same way they had when she was describing her first year of marriage to Harm Senior.

Mac put on the bracelet and the studs, and then Trish helped her with the necklace. The dress had one shoulder strap and one bare shoulder, and the pearls accented it nicely.

"You look beautiful, Sarah," and Mac nearly blushed. "Frank has already left for the club, but we should say goodbye to Harm."

Mac was concerned at what Harm might think when he saw her wearing his mother's pearls, but it didn't bother him at all.

"I haven't seen those pearls in years. I'm glad that mom is letting you wear them."

Trish told Harm, "Frank is going to the doctor tomorrow. See that he doesn't drink too much, and that he keeps away from fried and fatty foods at lunch."

"I'll do what I can."

"I know you will. Goodbye Darling," and Trish kissed her son lightly on the cheek.

Mac lagged a bit behind and when Trish left the room she teased Harm by saying, "Goodbye Darling," and then kissed him on the same cheek, but hard enough to leave her lipstick behind.

Harm wiped his cheek. "I like your kisses a lot more than mom's."

"I hope so!"

"Enjoy your afternoon at the gallery. And Mac, you look great in those pearls. I only wish that I could afford to give you a gift like that."

"Staying with you and your family is a wonderful gift."

"I'm going to take you somewhere special tonight. Just the two of us, but please, no question and answer session."

"Okay, but you're not off the hook." When Harm gave her his flyboy smile she exclaimed, "Don't do that!"

"Do what?"

"Give me that smile."

Harm feigned innocence. "What smile?"

"The smile that makes me give into you every time I see it." Mac pointed her finger at Harm. "Listen up, Mister. It might not be tonight, but you and I will have our talk. Count on it."

Trish was already inside her Jeep Grand Cherokee and was wearing her driving shoes when Mac sat down next to her.

"Your lipstick is smudged, Sarah," and Trish gave Mac a sly grin.

Mac was embarrassed and used the mirror in the passenger sun visor to fix her lipstick.

Once Mac was finished, Trish looked directly at her and asked, "Do you love him, dear?"

Mac didn't hesitate. "I do. I know that I do. But I don't know how to reach him."

Trish sighed. "When they coined the phrase 'The Strong Silent Type', they had the Rabb men in mind. Harm Senior was a wonderful husband and father, but he was not good at expressing his feelings. I'm afraid that my son is the same way."

"Harm asked me to go somewhere special with him tonight. Do you have any idea where that might be?"

"Harm had several places where he'd go to be alone and think, but I don't believe he ever took anyone along with him." Trish looked at the clock on the dash and said, "We've got to get moving."

* * *

Harm had kept busy on the computer for as long as possible, but he couldn't put off making the phone call any longer.

"Hi, Grams."

"Harmon, it's so nice to hear from you. Are you at home?"

"No. I'm in La Jolla, and visiting with Mom and Frank."

"Put them on the phone. I'd like to say hello."

"Frank is playing golf this afternoon, and mom is at the gallery with Sarah Mackenzie."

"You have been hiding Sarah from me, Harmon. When do I get to meet her?"

"I'm not hiding her. When we get back I'll make it a point to bring her to the farm." There was a pause before Harm finally said, "Grams, the reason I called was that I have news about Dad."

"What is it, Harmon?" There was no sense of anticipation in her voice. Sarah Harmon Rabb had accepted that her son was dead.

"The Navy has found evidence that he was killed on the ground in North Vietnam and his status has been changed to KIA. I'll be planning a memorial service for him at Arlington."

"I'll be happy to help in any way that I can."

"When I get home I'll come to the farm and we'll have a nice long visit. And I promise to bring Sarah MacKenzie with me."

"That will be wonderful. Bring along a copy of the official report on your father's death. I'd like to read it."

Harm was taken aback. His grandmother understood the workings of the navy better than the personnel working at BUPERS. If there were any holes in the CIA's story, she'd find them.

"If that's what you want."

"Give my love to Trish and Frank, and my best to Sarah."

"I will. I love you, Grams."

"I love you too, Harmon. Goodbye."

Sarah Harmon Rabb set down the phone and looked at the photos on the mantle above the fireplace. Warren Rabb was seated in the cockpit of his Grumman F4F Wildcat, Harmon Senior was standing next the F-4 Phantom he had named Sweet Sarah, and Harmon Junior was standing in front of an F-14.

Her husband and her son were dead, and a serious accident had nearly taken the life of her grandson, but as she looked at the photos, Sarah Rabb didn't feel a twinge of regret.

All three Rabb men had a passion for flying which could not be denied.

Admiral John Nielson, call sign Jocko, was among the US Navy's most respected senior officers. After shooting down the 5 Japanese aircraft in a single engagement, Nielson became an "Ace In A Day", and was awarded the Navy Cross. Nielson shot down 3 more aircraft in WWII, plus another 3 in the skies above Korea to become one the US Navy's two dozen double-aces.

Following four deployments to Korea aboard the _USS Valley Forge_, Nielson was assigned to Naval Air Station Patuxent River as a test pilot. In 1958 he was promoted to full commander and served as the CAG of the _USS Oriskany _until 1962 when he was promoted to captain and placed in command of the _USS White Plains_, a combat stores ship. Following his deep-draft command, he served as the XO of the _USS Midway. _Nielson was made skipper of the _USS Ticonderoga_ and served as its commanding officer until 1970. Admiral John Nielson finished his long and distinguished naval career as Commander of the U.S. Pacific Fleet before retiring from the navy in 1978.

Nielson's command philosophy was simple: "My ship's will set navy standards, not break records."

Warren Rabb had flown with Jack Nielson off the old _Hornet_, and Sarah Rabb considered Nielson a trusted friend. He was her first call.

Nielson was at his home in Pensacola, and was watching the pregame show when his wife picked up the phone.

Nielson's first wife had died of ovarian cancer. He had remarried, and Sarah did not care for his new wife.

"Hello, Carol. This is Sarah Rabb. Is Jack available?"

"One moment, Mrs. Rabb," and Carol handed the phone to her husband.

"Sarah, it's wonderful to hear from you. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Sarah got to the point. "My grandson telephoned me to say that his father has been declared KIA."

"After all of these years?"

"I don't have any details, so I'd be grateful if you would look into it."

"I'll make a few phone calls and see what I can find out. How have you been? We haven't talked in ages."

"I'm alive and kicking, and every bit as one-way as you remember."

Nielson smiled. Sarah Rabb had an opinion on everything, and it was rumored that she would telephone the Chief of Naval Operations with advice on how to run the navy. Nielson didn't doubt it for a minute.

"Sarah, the Squadron reunion will be held here in Pensacola next June. The guys always ask about you. Come down and visit with the old gang, what few of us there are left."

"I'd like that."

"Wonderful. Carol and I insist that you stay with us." Nielson glanced at his wife, who was shaking her head vigorously at the suggestion. Carol had met Sarah Rabb a few times, and after each meeting she liked her less.

"Is that an order, Admiral?"

"Consider it a strongly worded suggestion."

"Count me in."

"That's great. I'll call you just as soon as I learn anything about Harm."

"Thanks, Jack. Warren always said that you were a good friend."

The mention of Warren Rabb's name made half a century melt away. "Goodbye, Sarah."

"How is the indomitable Mrs. Sarah Rabb?" asked Carol.

"Her son has been declared KIA."

"The aviator who was shot down on Christmas Eve? I thought that he was missing in action."

"His status has changed, and Sarah asked me to look into it."

Carol sighed. The Rabb wives, Sarah and Trish, were like a vortex which sucked in everyone around them.

"I wish you would have consulted with me before inviting Mrs. Rabb to stay with us."

"Sarah is an old friend, and I don't have a lot of old friends left."

Carol shrugged. "The game is going to start in a few minutes. Would you like a glass of iced tea?"

"I don't feel like watching football today." Nielson rose from his chair, went into his office and shut the door behind him.

Once he was behind his desk, Nielson reached for his phone. "Eddie, it's Jack...Fine, thanks. Sorry to bother you on a Sunday, but do you remember Harmon Rabb?...No, his father...That's right, he was shot down on Christmas Eve. I just got off the phone with Rabb's mother and she told me his status has been changed to KIA...No, I don't have the file. Look Eddie, BUPERS will stonewall me. Can you make some inquires?...That would be great. Thanks."

Nielson hung up the phone and then went to his bookcase where he removed the _USS Ticonderoga's _1969 cruise book. He began turning pages until he found Squadron VF-111, The Sundowners.

There were no individual photos of the personnel, just group shots, but Nielson quickly spotted Harmon Rabb standing in the back row. Rabb looked like the prototypical naval aviator. He was tall and handsome, and he had a stylish mustache. He also appeared brimming with confidence, the same confidence that his father Warren had displayed.

_'_Any mans death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind.'

Nielson closed the cruise book and began staring out his office window, except he was no longer in his office. He was back on the bridge of the _USS Ticonderoga, _and conducting air operations on Yankee Station in the Gulf Of Tonkin.

By the time the news of the shoot down reached the _Tico_, Bob Hope and his entourage had departed, and what had been a cheerful crew turned sullen. Harmon Rabb was one of the _Ticonderoga's _most popular officers, and his loss hit everyone hard.

Petty Officer Andrew Thomas, Rabb's plane captain, had been inconsolable.

Rabb was not flying his regular aircraft that day, so Thomas was convinced that while prepping the new plane he had overlooked some small detail which lead to a systems failure, and ultimately to the shoot down.

Al Cherry, Tom Boone and Bill Ross assured Thomas that he was not at fault, but it did no good. To a plane captain, the loss of his plane and his crew was the worse loss imaginable.

After learning that Thomas was drafting a letter of apology to Patricia Rabb, Captain Nielson had ordered the ship's post office to intercept Thomas' out going mail. Nielson also instructed Master Chief Davis to keep and eye on the young petty officer.

Captain Nielson was a fighting man, and the _Tico _was fighting ship, so there was no stand down on Christmas day. Holiday or not, Nielson ordered the normal number of missions be flown.

Hardest hit were those in Squadron VF-111. If Harmon Rabb, who was among the most gifted pilots in the wing, could be shot down, the members of the Sundowners knew that they were all at risk.

Captain Brian "Buzzard" Bryant, the Commander of the _Ticonderoga's _air wing, took steps to boost morale.

The CAG ordered that Tom Boone replace Rabb as a flight leader, with Bill Ross as his wingman. Boone had a MiG kill and Ross didn't, so making Boone the flight leader was automatic. Knowing what looking at an empty rack could do to an aviator who had lost a close friend, the CAG had Ross moved into Tom Boone's cabin.

Rabb's regular aircraft came out of intermediate maintenance on the day after Christmas, and Boone requested that he be allowed to fly it. That was outside of procedure, but Bryant gave the okay, and Boone finished his cruise flying Harm's F-4. When Tom Boone suggested that Petty officer Thomas be made his plane captain, the CAG quickly granted his request.

Because kills belonged to the individual aviators without regard to their aircraft, when Boone switched planes his MiG kill went with him, and Sweet Sarah got her red star, which Andrew Thomas was proud to paint on the left air intake.

The move paid dividends. Tom Boone had always been a hot head, but once he became a flight leader, he settled down a bit and his career was better for it.

After a series of talks with the ship's chaplain, Andrew Thomas pulled himself together. He would retire from the navy after 20 years, to be followed by a long career as a maintenance technician with American Airlines.

1969 was the final deployment to Vietnam for Tom Boone and Bill Ross. The air war in Vietnam was far from over, but they remained stateside as Top Gun instructors, and then joined the elite group of naval aviators who would train in and then test the new F-14 Tomcat.

The _USS Ticonderoga _would not deploy to Vietnam again. The old Essex Class carriers were simply too small for the up-tempo air war of the 1970's. Before being retired from naval service, the _Tico _would recover the astronauts of Apollo 16 and 17. The proud ship, which had received 12 battle stars during the Vietnam War, was struck from the Navy list in November 1973, and sold for scrap in September 1975.

Upon learning that the _Tico _had been struck from the Navy list, Jack Nielson, who had been promoted to rear admiral and was serving as the commander of Carrier Strike Group Three, said "No finer ship, nor braver and more dedicated crews, will be found in any naval service."

Everyone tried to put the events of Vietnam behind them, but it proved impossible.

Admiral Jack Nielson returned to Vietnam in April, 1975 as commander of Task Force 76, and the over all commander of the naval and air assets of Operation Frequent Wind; the evacuation of Saigon.

Tom Boone and Bill Ross also returned to Vietnam one last time, flying Tomcats off the _USS Enterprise. _With Al Cherry as the CAG, Boone and Ross were in the air providing BARCAP in what was the US Navy's first operational use of the F-14.

It was not known if the North Vietnamese would try to disrupt the evacuation, so all possible contingencies were taken into account. On two occasions, Tom Boone reported being tracked by surface to air radar while in the vicinity of Biên Hòa Air Base, which had been captured by the North Vietnamese.

There were no missile launches. Hanoi had decided to allow the Americans to get on with their business, and then go away.

As Boone and Ross patrolled the South China Sea, they watched while the white helicopters of Air America, the CIA's private airline, ran a continuous shuttle between Saigon and the Task Force. Neville Webb, CIA Chief of Station, Saigon, was among the last evacuees. Webb's wife Porter, and his young son Clayton, having been evacuated stateside several weeks earlier.

Operation Frequent Wind concluded on 02 March, 1975.

When they came aboard the _USS Enterprise _at midday, Tom Boone and Bill Ross, each having flown hundreds of combat hours over Vietnam, made the US Navy's final traps in Vietnamese waters.

No photographs were taken of the event, because no one cared about Vietnam any longer.

As the Task Force set sail for reception centers in the Philippines and Guam, Tom and Bill stood on the fantail and turned their thoughts to the many months they had spent on Yankee Station, and to their missing friend Harmon Rabb, who Tom firmly believed was still alive.

"Piss on Vietnam," said Boone, who waved his arm in the direction of the Vietnamese coastline. "It was all for nothing."

Bill Ross was more pragmatic. "That's for historians to argue."

"And what about Harm? We're leaving him and a lot of other MIA's behind, and everyone knows it."

"The question of the MIA's was settled so that the POW's could be released. It's politics, Tom, and we aren't politicians. Hammer will have to find his own way home."

"Home to what? Trish has declared him dead and remarried."

Ross's tone was biting. "That's none of your business. Unless you had counted on being the one to marry her."

Boone ignored the comment and began looking out at the ocean. "Five more minutes. We just needed to orbit above the crash site for five more minutes, but Al called us off."

"We've had this conversation before. We were almost out of fuel."

"That's the story that Al cooked up. Fuel was his excuse. Once the shooting started, Al didn't have the balls to stay around. He has a yellow streak," Boone spat.

"That's a damned lie, and you know it!" shouted Bill, who had been Al Cherry's wingman. "Al did the right thing. He went by the book."

"Besides Al, you the broke off and lost sight of the chutes."

"I was taking heavy flak. I came back to the _Tico _with half a dozen holes in my ship."

"You've told that story so many times that you sound like a broken record."

Ross stared at Boone. "Don't run your mouth at me, Tom, not unless you want everyone to know that the one MiG you shot down was really a gift from Hammer."

"You don't know what you're talking about. The Fishbed was my kill all the way," said Boone.

"Your old RIO, Archie Bond, says otherwise."

"Bond is full of shit. He wasn't worth a damn as a RIO," Boone spat.

"That may be, but Bond was in the backseat, and his story of the MiG kill is a lot different than yours."

Boone backed off. "All I'm saying is that we should have stayed."

"Now who sounds like a broken record? Lets both go up to the bridge and see Al, so that the three of us can have this out once and for all. Hell, let's go to the Flag Bridge and drag Nielson into it. I'm sure that he'd love to see you again."

Boone thought better of it and calmed down. "I don't want to fight with you, Bill, but I feel like this is the second time I've abandoned Harm. Knowing what happened, I still have a hard time looking Little Harm in the eye."

"Tom, nothing can change what took place on Christmas Eve. As for Little Harm, maybe he'll be the one to go to Vietnam and bring Hammer out?"

Boone cracked a smile. "I wouldn't put it past him." The two men lit up cigars, and then went to their cabin. They did not emerge until after dark, when the coast of Vietnam had disappeared.

Back in Pensacola, Carol Nielson stepped inside her husband's office to tell him that his lunch was ready.

"I'm sorry, but I don't have an appetite," said Nielson, who had just finished reliving the events which had irreparably altered the lives of so many good people.

Her husband had fought in three wars and he had nearly been lost at sea, but when Carol Nielson spotted the _Ticonderoga's cruise_ book on his desk, she wondered what it was about Vietnam that affected him so deeply?


	8. Chapter 8

[A/N-1] We will cover a lot of ground in this chapter. I hit a few rough spots along the way, but csincisfan01 got me through them. Thanks Angela. I also want to thank minimindbender for graciously allowing me the use of a plot device. Thank you, Doc. I greatly admire your writing, and I love your stories.

* * *

Harm had a few hours to kill before meeting Frank for lunch. After making up the sofa bed and tidying up the study, he heading out to the patio where the sun was shining. It was a beautiful afternoon, so Harm decided to go for a swim.

One of Harm's swimsuits was kept inside the pool house. After changing he showered off before going into the pool, just as he had been told to do as a little boy.

Frank kept the pool heated year round, so there was no need to check the temperature of the water. Harm jumped right in.

Harm was an excellent swimmer. He was tall with a long arms, and he had large hands and big feet; perfect for propelling himself through the water. Harm could have made his high school swim team, but the Naval Academy's athletic requirements were easily satisfied by participation in two varsity sports, and he found baseball and basketball more to his liking.

The pool was large for a residential property, and after swimming twenty laps, Harm had to admit that giving up cigars had helped his endurance, abet slightly. After swimming another twenty laps, Harm relaxed in the shallow end of the pool and thought back to the Summer in 1983; the year that his Academy friends had stayed with him at the house.

Jack Keeter was a terrible swimmer. Despite his best efforts, Keeter always sank to the bottom of the pool, which delighted Sturgis Turner no end.

"I thought all of you white guys could swim like a fish."

"Keeter swims like a fish...a stone fish!" said Luke Pendry, and everyone exploded in laughter, including Keeter, who didn't mind a joke at his expense.

Diane Schonke was sitting on the edge of the pool and wearing a red one-piece swimsuit as she dangled her perfectly toned legs into the water.

Diane motioned Harm closer. As he approached her, Diane began kicking water at Harm, who quickly pulled her off the edge and into the pool.

Diane screamed and began a mock battle, playfully hitting Harm on the chest, much to the satisfaction of the boys who were cheering her on.

Just when it appeared that Diane would prevail, Harm grabbed her firmly around the waist and they both disappeared under the water.

They broke the surface in an embrace and then shared a long kiss, much to the dissatisfaction of the others who began a chorus of boos and started splashing the couple savagely.

The noise was loud enough to bring Harm's mother out of the house. The presence of a four star admiral could not have brought on such silence.

"What on Earth is going on out here?" demanded Trish, who stood by the edge of the pool with her hands firmly on her hips.

When Trish saw Diane with her legs wrapped tightly around Harm's waist she tossed the girl a scowl, which Diane shrugged off.

"Dinner will be served in one hour," Trish announced. "Wet swimwear is not allowed inside the house. You'll find dry clothes in the pool house. After changing, place your wet swimsuits and your towels in the pool house washing machine."

"Yes, Mrs. Burnett," the boys said in unison, while Diane smirked at Trish.

Trish spun on her heels and walked back into the kitchen, where Frank was taking a platter of marinated chicken outside to the grill.

"I want Diane out of this house. Drive her to a hotel...or drop her on the other side of the border," Trish demanded.

"Calm down," said Frank, who set down the chicken and began nibbling on one of the deviled eggs Trish had prepared. "Diane's a nice girl. All of Harm's friends are nice, especially Keeter. He's a riot."

"You never take my side."

"Who's taking sides?" Frank reached for another deviled egg, but Trish slapped his hand. "Ouch."

"Diane is wrong for Harm. He can do better."

"For god sake, when Harm wasn't dating anyone in high school you sat up nights worrying that he was gay. Now that he has a girlfriend, she's not good enough for you."

"Diane is manipulative. She has Harm wrapped around her little finger."

"You're jealous. You're afraid that Diane is going to take Harm away from you."

"That is not true. It's just that Harm is impressionable, and god only knows how many men Diane's been with."

"This is 1983. It's a new world. And don't sell your son short with the ladies."

"I only want what's best for my son."

Frank took Trish in his arms. "I know that. You raised him alone, and you've become so used to taking care of him that now you can't stop. Sweetheart, when the time comes, the Navy won't let you ride in the backseat of Harm's F-14. You have to let go. For his sake, and your own."

"I'll try."

When Harm and his friends came into the house, everyone had changed into gym shorts and t-shirts. All except Diane, who strolled in while still wearing her wet swimsuit.

"You didn't expect me to change in front of the boys, did you Trish?" Diane said in a sarcastic tone.

Trish gave the girl and icy stare. "It's Mrs. Burnett." Trish turned to Harm. "Harmon, bring your classmate a towel," and her son raced to the linen closet.

Harm snapped back to reality. Luke and Diane were dead, Sturgis was in a fast attack sub; god knew where, and he hadn't spoken with Keeter or Bruce Carmichael in months.

It seemed as though that Summer vacation was just a dream.

After finishing his swim, Harm showered and shaved, and then looked through the closet in the study where he maintained a wardrobe.

The Club had a strict dress code: a blazer or sports coat before dusk, and a suit and tie in the evening. Harm didn't mind dressing up, so he selected a black Kenneth Cole tailored suit with a black Calvin Klein dress shirt, a navy blue silk tie, and a pair of Churches English dress shoes with matching belt.

Harm gave his shoes a quick buff and then went into the kitchen to leave a note on the refrigerator door for his mother:

'I'll be at the Club, and will keep an eye on Frank. Will try to be home by 1730. I hope that you and Mac had a nice afternoon. Love, Harm.'

* * *

Sunday, 11October, 1998  
1400 PDT  
La Jolla Country Club  
La Jolla, CA

After finishing 18 holes of golf, Frank Burnett and Dr. Max Shapiro parked their golf cart at the 19th hole for a bit of refreshment.

"Gin and tonic," said Max.

Frank sighed. "I'll have an Arnold Palmer."

"Are you on the wagon, Frank?"

"I have a doctors appointment tomorrow morning. I'll have a cocktail with lunch."

"Is your stepson going to join us?"

"My _son _will be here at 3."

"Is Harm still unmarried? My youngest daughter, Rachel..."

"Give it a rest, Max," Frank said as he tried to choke down his mixture of iced tea and lemonade. "Lets head in and clean up. The water coming out of the shower will taste better than this drink."

* * *

Sunday, 11 October, 1998  
1455 PDT  
La Jolla Country Club  
La Jolla, CA

The La Jolla Country Club was established in 1927 and sat on a bluff which commanded an impressive view of the Pacific Ocean. Harmon Rabb maneuvered his rental car through the club's parking lot and found a space next to Frank's Chrysler New Yorker Fifth Avenue. Frank loved big powerful cars, and Harm's Chrysler 300 looked like a compact when parked next to the New Yorker.

The Club's Jewel Dinning Room was private, and limited to members and their guests. "Harmon Rabb, for Frank Burnett's party," Harm told the maître d.

"Mister Burnett's party has been seated. Come right this way."

Frank and Dr. Shapiro, and their friend David Thorndike, who they called Thorny, were seated in their favorite booth which had an unobstructed view of the golf course and the Pacific Ocean.

Frank was half way through a martini and excited to see him Harm. "Sit down, Harm. You remember Max and Thorny."

Harm remembered them. His mother referred to the pair as being Frank's cronies. "It's good to see you again, Doctor. You too, Mister Thorndike.

"It's good to see you again Harm, and call me Max."

David Thorndike's family had made their fortune in oil and natural gas. Thorny was a big man, and he was loud. "You're looking damned good, Harm. How is the Navy treating you? Hell, my taxes alone should have set you up in a god damned palace."

"Everything in the Navy is going along fine, or it was the last time the Secretary of Defense and I chatted."

A waiter arrived to take Harm's drink order.

"An Old Fashion. Not too sweet."

"Right away, sir."

When Harm's drink arrived, the conversation had turned to the things that men always talk about: sports and politics. Harm didn't follow any of the local teams, and being in the military he was conditioned to keep his political views to himself. Harm sipped his cocktail and listened quietly.

This was a lifestyle that Harm had been offered, but he wouldn't accept. The Club was magnificent, but he didn't feel comfortable here. Shooting hoops on a hanger deck, or eating a burger at a steel beach picnic were things that he enjoyed. A round of golf at the Club, followed by a fancy lunch didn't interest him in the least.

* * *

1630 PDT  
Burnett Residence  
La Jolla, CA

Mac carefully removed the pearls and then placed them inside the blue jewelry case. Trish had insisted that she hold onto the pearls, and she wanted Mac to wear them as often as she liked.

The pearls were magnificent, but even purchased in Hong Kong they must have been ruinously expensive on a junior officers pay.

Mac pictured Harm Senior and Tom Boone going in and out of shops along Nathan Street, with Big Harm searching for the perfect gift for his pretty young wife.

"Look at these pearls, Tom. Trish will love them."

Boone gave a low whistle. "Remember, buddy, it's Lieutenant Rabb, and not Admiral Rabb. We get $714 a month, plus $110 Flight Pay, and $65 Hostile Fire Pay. Those white marbles will put a big dent in your paycheck."

"I've got money squirreled away. Trish deserves them. After all, being a Navy wife isn't easy."

"You're lucky to have her."

"I know it. I just hope that you'll find someone like Trish."

"Maybe someday I will," said Boone.

Mac liked nice things, but she didn't expect them. While growing up, Sarah MacKenzie seldom received gifts; just clothes for school and a few pairs of new shoes. After Sarah's mother left home her father was drinking more and more, and money at the house became even tighter.

Sarah need an after school job, but she didn't have the temperament to be a waitress, and lacked the people-skills to be a sales girl.

To earn extra money, Sarah and her friend Eddy cleaned houses.

"You'll clean up after strangers, but you leave this place a mess," Joe MacKenzie snapped.

"It was clean when I left for school. The house would stay clean if you'd pick up after yourself."

"I'm 100% disabled. Grenade fragments in both legs."

"Save that sob story for the VA. I'll bet that you spent the entire day on the couch."

"My feet started to swell up this afternoon."

"The reason that your feet are swollen is because of your drinking. You won't lift a finger around the house. Just once I'd like you to treat me as a daughter and not as your servant."

"You've been nothing but a disappointment. You're worthless, and you'll never amount to anything."

"You're one to talk. You just lay around drunk all day."

"Who is calling who a drunk? Someone is drinking that vodka in the kitchen cabinet, and it's not me."

"I hate you," Sarah spat.

"Look in the mirror, Sarah. That's who you hate, you sanctimonious little slut."

Sarah stormed out of the house while her father screamed after her. "That's right. Run to your boyfriend and let him bang you. You're a whore, Sarah, just like your whore mother!"

Mac began to tremble. As she fought back the tears, she remembered that Harm was taking her somewhere special tonight. That was what she focused on to calm herself down.

* * *

The lunch served at the gallery wasn't filling, so after showering, Mac decided to head into the kitchen to find some chow.

When Mac came into the kitchen, Trish was seated at the table and was watching television.

"In an unusual late Sunday session, The U.S. Senate voted 66-34 to continue funding for the U.S. Embassy in Vietnam based on Hanoi's ongoing cooperation on the POW/MIA issue. In light of continuing good relations, Caterpillar Inc. authorized a dealership in Vietnam, the first American business in Vietnam since the end of the War. This is Chuck DePalma, ZNN."

"Quite a change of events in the last 13 years," said Mac.

Trish switched off the set. "I suppose this has to happen, although I see nothing good coming from our being involved with Vietnam. Are you hungry, dear? Can I get you something to eat?"

"I was thinking of having a sandwich."

"How about ham and Swiss on rye?"

"That would be wonderful. I can make it."

"Nonsense. Sit down at the table and I'll prepare it. Would you liked it grilled?"

_Trish is the ultimate mother._

"No thank you, but I do like plenty of mustard."

"I'll have it ready in a jiffy."

"Seeing the news about Vietnam makes me wonder about Harm's trip to look for his father. What happened?"

Trish's voice was short. "I don't know much about it," which Mac understood to mean that Trish knew more than she was willing to share. "Now that we know that Big Harm was KIA, that trip was a waste of time."

Trish set the sandwich and a bottle of mineral water down in front of Mac. "Would you like some coleslaw to go with your sandwich?"

"No, thank you. Trish, I'm sorry that I-"

"The boys will be home soon. Frank is always tired after golf, so I'll need to lay out his things. Hopefully he didn't drink too much at lunch. The spa that I prefer is fully booked for tomorrow, but our local spa is quite nice. We will leave the house at 1000. If you'd like more to eat, please help yourself," and Trish walked out of the kitchen and into the master suite.

This was the first time that Mac had seen Harm's mother upset. Trish was a wonderfully kind woman, but she had a serious side- perhaps even a bit standoffish. It was a trait which Mac had recognized in Harm.

Mac was eating her sandwich when Harm and Frank walked into the kitchen.

"Home is the sailor," Mac told Harm, who looked amazing in his fitted black suit.

"The ship pours shining on the quay. The plunder of the world." Harm snatched away Mac's sandwich, took a bite and frowned. "Ugh. Too much mustard."

"How was the gallery, Mac?" asked Frank, who looked tired.

"Trish and I had a wonderful afternoon. The gallery is amazing," Mac replied, while leaving out the job offer.

"That's great. I'm a bit worn down, so I'm going in and relax. Are we still on for our morning walk?"

"I wouldn't miss it."

"That's my girl," and Frank headed for the master suite.

"I love your suit, Harm. Will you wear it tomorrow night when we go to dinner with Frank and Trish?"

"You want me to wear the same suit twice in a row?"

"It will compliment my dress."

"What dress are you wearing?"

"One which will compliment your suit," Mac deadpanned.

Harm groaned. "Spoken like a true jarhead. It's no wonder that the Marine Corps is a cult."

"What else did you do today?"

"I spoke with my grandmother this morning. She wants to meet you."

"Sweet Sarah wants to meet me?"

"Sweet is open to interpretation. Grams is not your 'rocking chair'-type grandmother. Sarah Harmon Rabb speaks her mind, and she has an opinion about everyone and everything."

"I like her already."

"I told her that we'd visit the farm later this month. If you'd like, we could fly there in Sarah. I can set her down on the property."

"No gun-play this time?"

"Not if I can help it." Harm looked at the wall clock. "Sunset is at around 1830-"

"1821," Mac corrected.

"Let's head out at 1845. We'll be doing a bit of hiking, so wear comfortable clothes and sturdy shoes, and don't forget a jacket."

"It sounds like fun."

"Can you brew a pot of coffee to take along? not too strong." There was a thermos in the cabinet above the range and Harm set it on the kitchen counter. "I'm going to take a shower," and Mac began brewing a pot of very strong coffee.

* * *

It had been a long day, and although Frank Burnett hated to admit it, he was tired. Frank had showered and put on his pajamas, and even at such an early hour, he was ready for bed.

When Frank walked into the bedroom, Trish was sitting in their king size bed and glancing through an art magazine. Frank sighed. Trish normally did her evening reading in her office, so when he slid into bed he knew that something was up.

"I want to talk to you about Sarah."

"How is everything on the farm in Pennsylvania?"

Trish reached across the bed and slapped Frank with the magazine. "Not Sarah Rabb, I'm talking about Sarah MacKenzie."

"Oh, Mac. It's great having her here. I can't say that about Harm's more recent girlfriends, except for Annie. She was high-strung, but nice. And I liked Josh."

"That relationship wasn't healthy. Harm being involved with his dead friend's wife, and then spending all of that time with her son..." Trish thought back to Tom Boone spending so many evenings at her house. "It was just was wrong."

"I did like Diane."

"That little witch was the worst of the bunch."

"Don't speak ill of the dead."

"Then let's get back to Sarah. She's special, so I've been making it a point to welcome her to our family. This afternoon I offered her the chance to manage the gallery, but she turned it down."

"I'm not surprised. Mac has better options than babysitting that crew of screwball artists."

"They're not screwballs. Although they are a bit eccentric- like all artists. I offered Sarah the gallery because when she and Harm are married, it would give her a wonderful career."

Frank sat straight up. "That's putting the cart before the horse. Have you chatted with our son about this arranged marriage?"

"I was trying to discuss it with Harm this morning at breakfast, that is until you came barging into the kitchen and began talking endlessly about your morning walk."

"Pardon me, but you're the one who has always insisted that we not interfere in Harm's personal life."

"I feel differently now."

"Well, so do I. Harm and I had a nice talk on the patio the other night and we buried the hatchet. He apologized for giving me the cold shoulder for all those years and things are going nicely between us. I don't want to risk rocking the boat."

"There's little risk of that."

"That's easy for you to say. Harm worships you. I adore Mac, but at this stage of my life I need Harm to be my son more than I need a daughter in law."

Trish ignored every word her husband had said. "Harm's birthday is in two weeks. I want to host an early birthday party for him. The Dawson's are coming home tomorrow so we can introduce Mac to them and our other friends."

"Introducing Mac to that crowd will probably scare her off. I will be glad to see Chet Dawson. It's been tough getting a foursome together without him."

"Can you stop thinking about golf for five minutes?"

"Why would Harm and Mac want to spend an evening with a group of people who are old enough to be their parents? Let them go off on their own and have some fun on Friday night."

"It's _our_ son's birthday. How long has it been since _our _son has been home for his birthday?" Frank knew that the battle was lost.

"Fine. After I finish with the doctor in the morning I'll swing by the Club and book the hall for Friday night."

"I want to have the party here."

Frank leaned back and groaned. "Dear God. You know how much I hate people traipsing through the house, and then the cleanup the following day. Why can't we rent the hall?"

"I want Sarah to understand that she is a part of our family. Having the party in our home will make that clear to her, and to Harm."

"It might take a ton of bricks to fall on Harm for him to get the message. You know how hardheaded he can be."

"Yes. Harm is just like his father."

Frank looked across the bed. "Sure...just like his father."

"I'm not amused by that comment."

"Why not leave well enough alone? Harm and Mac are friends and colleagues. They aren't lovers, but why should they be?"

"Harm is going to be 35. It's time he settled down. Sarah needs stability in her life. She wants to start a family."

"How could you know that?"

"If you talk to people instead of talking at them..."

"Leave me out of it and lets focus on Harm. If we push him too hard he might push back. You know how obstinate he can be. After all, he's just like his father."

Trish frowned. "You're over-thinking things. As you always do."

Frank put up his hands to indicate total surrender. "Harm and Mac fly home Sunday afternoon. Can you pull it all together by Friday?"

"I believe so. Of course I'll need to inform Sarah, just to make sure that she doesn't allow Harm to make any plans for Friday evening. She and I can discuss it at the spa. Sarah is a lovely girl."

"The two of us are on the same page about that."

"You and I are always on the same page. You're just a slow reader."

Frank slid across the bed and put his arm around Trish. "Patricia Burnett, before I met you my life was boring. You and Harm are the best things that ever happened to me."

"Frank Burnett, you're the best thing that has happened to Harm and I."

_There is an enduring tenderness in the love of a mother to a son that transcends all other affections of the heart, _and Frank Burnett knew that in his wife's affections, he'd always be second to Harm Junior.

* * *

The Torrey Pines Gliderport was established in 1930 and it had once served as an anti-aircraft training facility. The gliderport closed at sunset, but offered dozens of trails along the cliffs which overlooked the city's popular Black's Beach.

It was a cool Fall evening. The gentle off shore breeze was crisp and clean, and devoid of pollution. The moon wasn't up, so after parking the car, Harm used a small flashlight to guide Mac along a narrow path and to a secluded area where they could be by themselves.

After Harm had spread out the blanket, Mac passed him a cup of hot coffee. "God, that's strong coffee."

"We've been through this before. Coffee should be strong."

"Luckily I have something sweet to go with it," and Harm put his arm around Mac's shoulder.

"That's so nice of you to say," and Mac snuggled up close to him. "Do you always come here when you're visiting your parents?"

"No, but I came here a lot when I was a kid. Vietnam is 14 hours ahead, so when the sun was going down here it was already daylight in Vietnam. I'd sit on the cliffs and stare at the ocean and wonder what my dad was doing?"

"He was thinking about you and your mom and how much he missed you both. Whether he was in Vietnam or Russia, it was you and Trish who gave him the strength he needed to keep going."

Harm tightened his arm around Mac. "When I went to Vietnam to look for him I imagined that he and I would come back home and pick up where we had left off in 1969. I pictured the two of us working together to rebuild the Stearman. The foolish dreams of a 16 year old boy."

"What happened in Vietnam, Harm?"

"There's not much to tell. Frank and I flew to Thailand, I spent a couple of weeks poking around, and then Frank and I came back home."

It didn't sound plausible, and Mac's natural curiosity made her want to know the full story. Mac knew that Harm and his mother would never talk, but Frank could not refuse her, and Frank was the gatekeeper for all of the Rabb secrets.

The pair sat close together and watched as Mars and Saturn rose over the horizon. Once the two planets were up they joined with the bright star Antares to form a celestial triangle which Harm, an experienced navigator, easily recognized.

"This would be a good night to fly off of a carrier."

Harm had said the words casually, but they cut into Mac like a knife.

_But you can't fly at night, Harm, and you shouldn't be thinking about carriers. A carrier means you and a Tomcat, and me left behind, just like your father left Trish behind...and your father never came back._

Mac's nightmare rushed over her like a flood: first the doorbell, then Bud and the Admiral standing at the door, and then the Admiral telling her that Harm was...

"Hold me, Harm. Hold me tightly," Mac implored, and she practically crawled inside of the leather flight jacket he was wearing.

"What's wrong?" Harm pulled her tightly up against him so that her head rested on his chest. When he ran his fingers softly over Mac's cheek he felt tears. "Mac, why are you crying?"

When Mac looked up at him her huge brown eyes were wet. "I love you, Harm."

"Please, Sarah. We agreed not to let this happen tonight."

"I don't care. I love you, and I need you to say that you love me," she pleaded.

Harm had never said 'I love you' to a woman. He felt desire for Diane, and affection and compassion for Annie, but the other women were just friends with benefits. He enjoyed spending time with them and hooking up, but those relationships came with no strings attached.

Sarah MacKenzie could never be that type of woman.

_Rabb, whatever you say will change your life forever._

"I love you, Sarah," and Harm kissed her.

Someone was approaching. Harm could hear footsteps followed by whispers, then came the flashlight.

"I'm sorry," said the young man. "We didn't think that anyone else would be up here."

"We're just doing a bit of stargazing," said Harm.

"Excuse us," said the girl, who Mac thought looked rather young.

As the couple made their way past them the boy explained to his girlfriend, "How was I supposed to know there were old folks up here?"

"Old folks?" asked Harm.

"He must be talking about you. Honestly, Harm, did you hire them to interrupt us?"

_Or was it Diane who sent them?_

The mood was lost, so they sat next to each other and watched the moon rise.

Mac felt that they had turned a corner. She wondered if the road ahead lead to an expressway, or if it was a dead end?


	9. Chapter 9

[A/N-1] We will cover a lot of ground in this chapter. I hit a few rough spots along the way, but csincisfan01 got me through them. Thanks Angela. I also want to thank minimindbender for graciously allowing me the use of a plot device. Thank you, Doc. I greatly admire your writing, and I love your stories.

* * *

Harm had a few hours to kill before meeting Frank for lunch. After making up the sofa bed and tidying up the study, he heading out to the patio where the sun was shining. It was a beautiful afternoon, so Harm decided to go for a swim.

One of Harm's swimsuits was kept inside the pool house. After changing he showered off before going into the pool, just as he had been told to do as a little boy.

Frank kept the pool heated year round, so there was no need to check the temperature of the water. Harm jumped right in.

Harm was an excellent swimmer. He was tall with a long arms, and he had large hands and big feet; perfect for propelling himself through the water. Harm could have made his high school swim team, but the Naval Academy's athletic requirements were easily satisfied by participation in two varsity sports, and he found baseball and basketball more to his liking.

The pool was large for a residential property, and after swimming twenty laps, Harm had to admit that giving up cigars had helped his endurance, abet slightly. After swimming another twenty laps, Harm relaxed in the shallow end of the pool and thought back to the Summer in 1983; the year that his Academy friends had stayed with him at the house.

Jack Keeter was a terrible swimmer. Despite his best efforts, Keeter always sank to the bottom of the pool, which delighted Sturgis Turner no end.

"I thought all of you white guys could swim like a fish."

"Keeter swims like a fish...a stone fish!" said Luke Pendry, and everyone exploded in laughter, including Keeter, who didn't mind a joke at his expense.

Diane Schonke was sitting on the edge of the pool and wearing a red one-piece swimsuit as she dangled her perfectly toned legs into the water.

Diane motioned Harm closer. As he approached her, Diane began kicking water at Harm, who quickly pulled her off the edge and into the pool.

Diane screamed and began a mock battle, playfully hitting Harm on the chest, much to the satisfaction of the boys who were cheering her on.

Just when it appeared that Diane would prevail, Harm grabbed her firmly around the waist and they both disappeared under the water.

They broke the surface in an embrace and then shared a long kiss, much to the dissatisfaction of the others who began a chorus of boos and started splashing the couple savagely.

The noise was loud enough to bring Harm's mother out of the house. The presence of a four star admiral could not have brought on such silence.

"What on Earth is going on out here?" demanded Trish, who stood by the edge of the pool with her hands firmly on her hips.

When Trish saw Diane with her legs wrapped tightly around Harm's waist she tossed the girl a scowl, which Diane shrugged off.

"Dinner will be served in one hour," Trish announced. "Wet swimwear is not allowed inside the house. You'll find dry clothes in the pool house. After changing, place your wet swimsuits and your towels in the pool house washing machine."

"Yes, Mrs. Burnett," the boys said in unison, while Diane smirked at Trish.

Trish spun on her heels and walked back into the kitchen, where Frank was taking a platter of marinated chicken outside to the grill.

"I want Diane out of this house. Drive her to a hotel...or drop her on the other side of the border," Trish demanded.

"Calm down," said Frank, who set down the chicken and began nibbling on one of the deviled eggs Trish had prepared. "Diane's a nice girl. All of Harm's friends are nice, especially Keeter. He's a riot."

"You never take my side."

"Who's taking sides?" Frank reached for another deviled egg, but Trish slapped his hand. "Ouch."

"Diane is wrong for Harm. He can do better."

"For god sake, when Harm wasn't dating anyone in high school you sat up nights worrying that he was gay. Now that he has a girlfriend, she's not good enough for you."

"Diane is manipulative. She has Harm wrapped around her little finger."

"You're jealous. You're afraid that Diane is going to take Harm away from you."

"That is not true. It's just that Harm is impressionable, and god only knows how many men Diane's been with."

"This is 1983. It's a new world. And don't sell your son short with the ladies."

"I only want what's best for my son."

Frank took Trish in his arms. "I know that. You raised him alone, and you've become so used to taking care of him that now you can't stop. Sweetheart, when the time comes, the Navy won't let you ride in the backseat of Harm's F-14. You have to let go. For his sake, and your own."

"I'll try."

When Harm and his friends came into the house, everyone had changed into gym shorts and t-shirts. All except Diane, who strolled in while still wearing her wet swimsuit.

"You didn't expect me to change in front of the boys, did you Trish?" Diane said in a sarcastic tone.

Trish gave the girl and icy stare. "It's Mrs. Burnett." Trish turned to Harm. "Harmon, bring your classmate a towel," and her son raced to the linen closet.

Harm snapped back to reality. Luke and Diane were dead, Sturgis was in a fast attack sub; god knew where, and he hadn't spoken with Keeter or Bruce Carmichael in months.

It seemed as though that Summer vacation was just a dream.

After finishing his swim, Harm showered and shaved, and then looked through the closet in the study where he maintained a wardrobe.

The Club had a strict dress code: a blazer or sports coat before dusk, and a suit and tie in the evening. Harm didn't mind dressing up, so he selected a black Kenneth Cole tailored suit with a black Calvin Klein dress shirt, a navy blue silk tie, and a pair of Churches English dress shoes with matching belt.

Harm gave his shoes a quick buff and then went into the kitchen to leave a note on the refrigerator door for his mother:

'I'll be at the Club, and will keep an eye on Frank. Will try to be home by 1730. I hope that you and Mac had a nice afternoon. Love, Harm.'

* * *

Sunday, 11October, 1998  
1400 PDT  
La Jolla Country Club  
La Jolla, CA

After finishing 18 holes of golf, Frank Burnett and Dr. Max Shapiro parked their golf cart at the 19th hole for a bit of refreshment.

"Gin and tonic," said Max.

Frank sighed. "I'll have an Arnold Palmer."

"Are you on the wagon, Frank?"

"I have a doctors appointment tomorrow morning. I'll have a cocktail with lunch."

"Is your stepson going to join us?"

"My _son _will be here at 3."

"Is Harm still unmarried? My youngest daughter, Rachel..."

"Give it a rest, Max," Frank said as he tried to choke down his mixture of iced tea and lemonade. "Lets head in and clean up. The water coming out of the shower will taste better than this drink."

* * *

Sunday, 11 October, 1998  
1455 PDT  
La Jolla Country Club  
La Jolla, CA

The La Jolla Country Club was established in 1927 and sat on a bluff which commanded an impressive view of the Pacific Ocean. Harmon Rabb maneuvered his rental car through the club's parking lot and found a space next to Frank's Chrysler New Yorker Fifth Avenue. Frank loved big powerful cars, and Harm's Chrysler 300 looked like a compact when parked next to the New Yorker.

The Club's Jewel Dinning Room was private, and limited to members and their guests. "Harmon Rabb, for Frank Burnett's party," Harm told the maître d.

"Mister Burnett's party has been seated. Come right this way."

Frank and Dr. Shapiro, and their friend David Thorndike, who they called Thorny, were seated in their favorite booth which had an unobstructed view of the golf course and the Pacific Ocean.

Frank was half way through a martini and excited to see him Harm. "Sit down, Harm. You remember Max and Thorny."

Harm remembered them. His mother referred to the pair as being Frank's cronies. "It's good to see you again, Doctor. You too, Mister Thorndike.

"It's good to see you again Harm, and call me Max."

David Thorndike's family had made their fortune in oil and natural gas. Thorny was a big man, and he was loud. "You're looking damned good, Harm. How is the Navy treating you? Hell, my taxes alone should have set you up in a god damned palace."

"Everything in the Navy is going along fine, or it was the last time the Secretary of Defense and I chatted."

A waiter arrived to take Harm's drink order.

"An Old Fashion. Not too sweet."

"Right away, sir."

When Harm's drink arrived, the conversation had turned to the things that men always talk about: sports and politics. Harm didn't follow any of the local teams, and being in the military he was conditioned to keep his political views to himself. Harm sipped his cocktail and listened quietly.

This was a lifestyle that Harm had been offered, but he wouldn't accept. The Club was magnificent, but he didn't feel comfortable here. Shooting hoops on a hanger deck, or eating a burger at a steel beach picnic were things that he enjoyed. A round of golf at the Club, followed by a fancy lunch didn't interest him in the least.

* * *

1630 PDT  
Burnett Residence  
La Jolla, CA

Mac carefully removed the pearls and then placed them inside the blue jewelry case. Trish had insisted that she hold onto the pearls, and she wanted Mac to wear them as often as she liked.

The pearls were magnificent, but even purchased in Hong Kong they must have been ruinously expensive on a junior officers pay.

Mac pictured Harm Senior and Tom Boone going in and out of shops along Nathan Street, with Big Harm searching for the perfect gift for his pretty young wife.

"Look at these pearls, Tom. Trish will love them."

Boone gave a low whistle. "Remember, buddy, it's Lieutenant Rabb, and not Admiral Rabb. We get $714 a month, plus $110 Flight Pay, and $65 Hostile Fire Pay. Those white marbles will put a big dent in your paycheck."

"I've got money squirreled away. Trish deserves them. After all, being a Navy wife isn't easy."

"You're lucky to have her."

"I know it. I just hope that you'll find someone like Trish."

"Maybe someday I will," said Boone.

Mac liked nice things, but she didn't expect them. While growing up, Sarah MacKenzie seldom received gifts; just clothes for school and a few pairs of new shoes. After Sarah's mother left home her father was drinking more and more, and money at the house became even tighter.

Sarah need an after school job, but she didn't have the temperament to be a waitress, and lacked the people-skills to be a sales girl.

To earn extra money, Sarah and her friend Eddy cleaned houses.

"You'll clean up after strangers, but you leave this place a mess," Joe MacKenzie snapped.

"It was clean when I left for school. The house would stay clean if you'd pick up after yourself."

"I'm 100% disabled. Grenade fragments in both legs."

"Save that sob story for the VA. I'll bet that you spent the entire day on the couch."

"My feet started to swell up this afternoon."

"The reason that your feet are swollen is because of your drinking. You won't lift a finger around the house. Just once I'd like you to treat me as a daughter and not as your servant."

"You've been nothing but a disappointment. You're worthless, and you'll never amount to anything."

"You're one to talk. You just lay around drunk all day."

"Who is calling who a drunk? Someone is drinking that vodka in the kitchen cabinet, and it's not me."

"I hate you," Sarah spat.

"Look in the mirror, Sarah. That's who you hate, you sanctimonious little slut."

Sarah stormed out of the house while her father screamed after her. "That's right. Run to your boyfriend and let him bang you. You're a whore, Sarah, just like your whore mother!"

Mac began to tremble. As she fought back the tears, she remembered that Harm was taking her somewhere special tonight. That was what she focused on to calm herself down.

* * *

The lunch served at the gallery wasn't filling, so after showering, Mac decided to head into the kitchen to find some chow.

When Mac came into the kitchen, Trish was seated at the table and was watching television.

"In an unusual late Sunday session, The U.S. Senate voted 66-34 to continue funding for the U.S. Embassy in Vietnam based on Hanoi's ongoing cooperation on the POW/MIA issue. In light of continuing good relations, Caterpillar Inc. authorized a dealership in Vietnam, the first American business in Vietnam since the end of the War. This is Chuck DePalma, ZNN."

"Quite a change of events in the last 13 years," said Mac.

Trish switched off the set. "I suppose this has to happen, although I see nothing good coming from our being involved with Vietnam. Are you hungry, dear? Can I get you something to eat?"

"I was thinking of having a sandwich."

"How about ham and Swiss on rye?"

"That would be wonderful. I can make it."

"Nonsense. Sit down at the table and I'll prepare it. Would you liked it grilled?"

_Trish is the ultimate mother._

"No thank you, but I do like plenty of mustard."

"I'll have it ready in a jiffy."

"Seeing the news about Vietnam makes me wonder about Harm's trip to look for his father. What happened?"

Trish's voice was short. "I don't know much about it," which Mac understood to mean that Trish knew more than she was willing to share. "Now that we know that Big Harm was KIA, that trip was a waste of time."

Trish set the sandwich and a bottle of mineral water down in front of Mac. "Would you like some coleslaw to go with your sandwich?"

"No, thank you. Trish, I'm sorry that I-"

"The boys will be home soon. Frank is always tired after golf, so I'll need to lay out his things. Hopefully he didn't drink too much at lunch. The spa that I prefer is fully booked for tomorrow, but our local spa is quite nice. We will leave the house at 1000. If you'd like more to eat, please help yourself," and Trish walked out of the kitchen and into the master suite.

This was the first time that Mac had seen Harm's mother upset. Trish was a wonderfully kind woman, but she had a serious side- perhaps even a bit standoffish. It was a trait which Mac had recognized in Harm.

Mac was eating her sandwich when Harm and Frank walked into the kitchen.

"Home is the sailor," Mac told Harm, who looked amazing in his fitted black suit.

"The ship pours shining on the quay. The plunder of the world." Harm snatched away Mac's sandwich, took a bite and frowned. "Ugh. Too much mustard."

"How was the gallery, Mac?" asked Frank, who looked tired.

"Trish and I had a wonderful afternoon. The gallery is amazing," Mac replied, while leaving out the job offer.

"That's great. I'm a bit worn down, so I'm going in and relax. Are we still on for our morning walk?"

"I wouldn't miss it."

"That's my girl," and Frank headed for the master suite.

"I love your suit, Harm. Will you wear it tomorrow night when we go to dinner with Frank and Trish?"

"You want me to wear the same suit twice in a row?"

"It will compliment my dress."

"What dress are you wearing?"

"One which will compliment your suit," Mac deadpanned.

Harm groaned. "Spoken like a true jarhead. It's no wonder that the Marine Corps is a cult."

"What else did you do today?"

"I spoke with my grandmother this morning. She wants to meet you."

"Sweet Sarah wants to meet me?"

"Sweet is open to interpretation. Grams is not your 'rocking chair'-type grandmother. Sarah Harmon Rabb speaks her mind, and she has an opinion about everyone and everything."

"I like her already."

"I told her that we'd visit the farm later this month. If you'd like, we could fly there in Sarah. I can set her down on the property."

"No gun-play this time?"

"Not if I can help it." Harm looked at the wall clock. "Sunset is at around 1830-"

"1821," Mac corrected.

"Let's head out at 1845. We'll be doing a bit of hiking, so wear comfortable clothes and sturdy shoes, and don't forget a jacket."

"It sounds like fun."

"Can you brew a pot of coffee to take along? not too strong." There was a thermos in the cabinet above the range and Harm set it on the kitchen counter. "I'm going to take a shower," and Mac began brewing a pot of very strong coffee.

* * *

It had been a long day, and although Frank Burnett hated to admit it, he was tired. Frank had showered and put on his pajamas, and even at such an early hour, he was ready for bed.

When Frank walked into the bedroom, Trish was sitting in their king size bed and glancing through an art magazine. Frank sighed. Trish normally did her evening reading in her office, so when he slid into bed he knew that something was up.

"I want to talk to you about Sarah."

"How is everything on the farm in Pennsylvania?"

Trish reached across the bed and slapped Frank with the magazine. "Not Sarah Rabb, I'm talking about Sarah MacKenzie."

"Oh, Mac. It's great having her here. I can't say that about Harm's more recent girlfriends, except for Annie. She was high-strung, but nice. And I liked Josh."

"That relationship wasn't healthy. Harm being involved with his dead friend's wife, and then spending all of that time with her son..." Trish thought back to Tom Boone spending so many evenings at her house. "It was just was wrong."

"I did like Diane."

"That little witch was the worst of the bunch."

"Don't speak ill of the dead."

"Then let's get back to Sarah. She's special, so I've been making it a point to welcome her to our family. This afternoon I offered her the chance to manage the gallery, but she turned it down."

"I'm not surprised. Mac has better options than babysitting that crew of screwball artists."

"They're not screwballs. Although they are a bit eccentric- like all artists. I offered Sarah the gallery because when she and Harm are married, it would give her a wonderful career."

Frank sat straight up. "That's putting the cart before the horse. Have you chatted with our son about this arranged marriage?"

"I was trying to discuss it with Harm this morning at breakfast, that is until you came barging into the kitchen and began talking endlessly about your morning walk."

"Pardon me, but you're the one who has always insisted that we not interfere in Harm's personal life."

"I feel differently now."

"Well, so do I. Harm and I had a nice talk on the patio the other night and we buried the hatchet. He apologized for giving me the cold shoulder for all those years and things are going nicely between us. I don't want to risk rocking the boat."

"There's little risk of that."

"That's easy for you to say. Harm worships you. I adore Mac, but at this stage of my life I need Harm to be my son more than I need a daughter in law."

Trish ignored every word her husband had said. "Harm's birthday is in two weeks. I want to host an early birthday party for him. The Dawson's are coming home tomorrow so we can introduce Mac to them and our other friends."

"Introducing Mac to that crowd will probably scare her off. I will be glad to see Chet Dawson. It's been tough getting a foursome together without him."

"Can you stop thinking about golf for five minutes?"

"Why would Harm and Mac want to spend an evening with a group of people who are old enough to be their parents? Let them go off on their own and have some fun on Friday night."

"It's _our_ son's birthday. How long has it been since _our _son has been home for his birthday?" Frank knew that the battle was lost.

"Fine. After I finish with the doctor in the morning I'll swing by the Club and book the hall for Friday night."

"I want to have the party here."

Frank leaned back and groaned. "Dear God. You know how much I hate people traipsing through the house, and then the cleanup the following day. Why can't we rent the hall?"

"I want Sarah to understand that she is a part of our family. Having the party in our home will make that clear to her, and to Harm."

"It might take a ton of bricks to fall on Harm for him to get the message. You know how hardheaded he can be."

"Yes. Harm is just like his father."

Frank looked across the bed. "Sure...just like his father."

"I'm not amused by that comment."

"Why not leave well enough alone? Harm and Mac are friends and colleagues. They aren't lovers, but why should they be?"

"Harm is going to be 35. It's time he settled down. Sarah needs stability in her life. She wants to start a family."

"How could you know that?"

"If you talk to people instead of talking at them..."

"Leave me out of it and lets focus on Harm. If we push him too hard he might push back. You know how obstinate he can be. After all, he's just like his father."

Trish frowned. "You're over-thinking things. As you always do."

Frank put up his hands to indicate total surrender. "Harm and Mac fly home Sunday afternoon. Can you pull it all together by Friday?"

"I believe so. Of course I'll need to inform Sarah, just to make sure that she doesn't allow Harm to make any plans for Friday evening. She and I can discuss it at the spa. Sarah is a lovely girl."

"The two of us are on the same page about that."

"You and I are always on the same page. You're just a slow reader."

Frank slid across the bed and put his arm around Trish. "Patricia Burnett, before I met you my life was boring. You and Harm are the best things that ever happened to me."

"Frank Burnett, you're the best thing that has happened to Harm and I."

_There is an enduring tenderness in the love of a mother to a son that transcends all other affections of the heart, _and Frank Burnett knew that in his wife's affections, he'd always be second to Harm Junior.

* * *

The Torrey Pines Gliderport was established in 1930 and it had once served as an anti-aircraft training facility. The gliderport closed at sunset, but offered dozens of trails along the cliffs which overlooked the city's popular Black's Beach.

It was a cool Fall evening. The gentle off shore breeze was crisp and clean, and devoid of pollution. The moon wasn't up, so after parking the car, Harm used a small flashlight to guide Mac along a narrow path and to a secluded area where they could be by themselves.

After Harm had spread out the blanket, Mac passed him a cup of hot coffee. "God, that's strong coffee."

"We've been through this before. Coffee should be strong."

"Luckily I have something sweet to go with it," and Harm put his arm around Mac's shoulder.

"That's so nice of you to say," and Mac snuggled up close to him. "Do you always come here when you're visiting your parents?"

"No, but I came here a lot when I was a kid. Vietnam is 14 hours ahead, so when the sun was going down here it was already daylight in Vietnam. I'd sit on the cliffs and stare at the ocean and wonder what my dad was doing?"

"He was thinking about you and your mom and how much he missed you both. Whether he was in Vietnam or Russia, it was you and Trish who gave him the strength he needed to keep going."

Harm tightened his arm around Mac. "When I went to Vietnam to look for him I imagined that he and I would come back home and pick up where we had left off in 1969. I pictured the two of us working together to rebuild the Stearman. The foolish dreams of a 16 year old boy."

"What happened in Vietnam, Harm?"

"There's not much to tell. Frank and I flew to Thailand, I spent a couple of weeks poking around, and then Frank and I came back home."

It didn't sound plausible, and Mac's natural curiosity made her want to know the full story. Mac knew that Harm and his mother would never talk, but Frank could not refuse her, and Frank was the gatekeeper for all of the Rabb secrets.

The pair sat close together and watched as Mars and Saturn rose over the horizon. Once the two planets were up they joined with the bright star Antares to form a celestial triangle which Harm, an experienced navigator, easily recognized.

"This would be a good night to fly off of a carrier."

Harm had said the words casually, but they cut into Mac like a knife.

_But you can't fly at night, Harm, and you shouldn't be thinking about carriers. A carrier means you and a Tomcat, and me left behind, just like your father left Trish behind...and your father never came back._

Mac's nightmare rushed over her like a flood: first the doorbell, then Bud and the Admiral standing at the door, and then the Admiral telling her that Harm was...

"Hold me, Harm. Hold me tightly," Mac implored, and she practically crawled inside of the leather flight jacket he was wearing.

"What's wrong?" Harm pulled her tightly up against him so that her head rested on his chest. When he ran his fingers softly over Mac's cheek he felt tears. "Mac, why are you crying?"

When Mac looked up at him her huge brown eyes were wet. "I love you, Harm."

"Please, Sarah. We agreed not to let this happen tonight."

"I don't care. I love you, and I need you to say that you love me," she pleaded.

Harm had never said 'I love you' to a woman. He felt desire for Diane, and affection and compassion for Annie, but the other women were just friends with benefits. He enjoyed spending time with them and hooking up, but those relationships came with no strings attached.

Sarah MacKenzie could never be that type of woman.

_Rabb, whatever you say will change your life forever._

"I love you, Sarah," and Harm kissed her.

Someone was approaching. Harm could hear footsteps followed by whispers, then came the flashlight.

"I'm sorry," said the young man. "We didn't think that anyone else would be up here."

"We're just doing a bit of stargazing," said Harm.

"Excuse us," said the girl, who Mac thought looked rather young.

As the couple made their way past them the boy explained to his girlfriend, "How was I supposed to know there were old folks up here?"

"Old folks?" asked Harm.

"He must be talking about you. Honestly, Harm, did you hire them to interrupt us?"

_Or was it Diane who sent them?_

The mood was lost, so they sat next to each other and watched the moon rise.

Mac felt that they had turned a corner. She wondered if the road ahead lead to an expressway, or if it was a dead end?


	10. Chapter 10

[A/N] I appreciate the continued interest in this story. I read and carefully consider each review and private message, and it is clear that without Harm and Mac "shipping", no story can survive in the world of JAG fan fiction. As for my writing another war story- I'd love to, but no one reads them. War stories are also quite difficult to write, at least they are if you want to get the details correct, which I strive to do.

I do not believe it was ever established how Sarah MacKenzie entered Marine Officer Candidate School. It has been suggested that Mac was prior enlisted, but in this story, Mac entered the Corps via the Officer Candidates Course, where college graduates are commissioned immediately upon graduation from OCS, but there are other paths to gaining a commssion in the USMC.

I have to give a shout-out to Rebecca S., a graduate of OCS Class 208 in 2011. Although I was only able to use about 10% of the stories she told me (some of them were unbelievable), her assistance was invaluable. Thank you for your service, Becca.

My idea of fan fiction is to see things we haven't seen, meet people we haven't met, and go to places where we haven't been. So lets go there now...

* * *

Chapter 10

Harm and Mac returned home from the gliderport just before midnight. Harm claimed he wanted a late-night snack, and then slowly ate a bowl of pasta salad while Mac stared at him from across the kitchen table.

_The condemned man's last meal? _

Harm rinsed his bowl and then placed it into the dishwasher. "I suppose we should turn in."

_This is a positive development, _and Mac followed him down the hall and into the study where she watched while he struggled to unfold the bed.

"I can never get this thing to unlatch. Will you give me a hand?"

"Of course. The release latch is shaped something like the charging handle on an M4 Carbine. Just give it a sharp pull, like this."

Mac had the bed unfolded in an instant, and then stood by in anticipation of what was to follow.

"Thanks. Can I get a kiss before I go to bed?"

"You can get more than that, Sailor." Her voice was sultry and seductive; yet somehow familiar.

Mac moved to the door and pushed it closed with her foot. She moved back to Harm, pressed her body tightly against his, and then reached under his sweatshirt and began running her hands up and down his chest so that her fingers tangling in his chest hair.

"That feels nice." Mac began rubbing her cheek over Harm's chest, and then she bit one of his nipples.

"Ouch! What was that for?"

Mac looked up at him and grinned. "Want to return the favor?"

"What's gotten into you?"

"Nothing has gotten _into me_...not yet," and she reached down and unbuckled his belt.

"Slow down. I've never seen you act like this before."

"You mean act like a woman who wants to get into bed with the man she loves? The man who just said that he loves her."

"That was at the gliderport. We were caught up in the moment."

Mac pulled away. "Don't you dare backpedal on me, Harmon Rabb," her voice having gone from seductive to venomous.

"I'm not. I just feel that before we commit to sleeping together, we should have our talk."

Mac would admit that Harm was being reasonable. After all, she was the one who wanted to move ahead. The problem was that Harm was always being reasonable; though only when it was convenient.

"When will this talk take place?" Mac asked.

"Tomorrow morning. Frank plays golf on Tuesdays, and my mother will be at the gallery. I can't imagine anything that would interfere."

Harm was too tall for Mac to look him directly in the eye. She gave him a push- which was actually a hard shove, and Harm found himself on the edge of the mattress, and on the receiving end of an icy stare.

"Listen up, Mister. If an earthquake levels this city tomorrow, you and I will sit atop the rubble and have our talk. Do you read me?"

"Loud and clear," and Harm looked nervously around the room.

"I swear to god, Harm, if you reach for travel brochure, I will bitch-slap you."

"Of course not. Do I get my goodnight kiss?"

"Harmon Rabb, you are the most exasperating man I have ever met," and Mac brushed her lips lightly on his cheek.

"That's it?"

"That was more than you deserve."

Harm's face took on the innocence of a 6 year old. "Good night, Mac."

_No wonder his mother could never refuse him. But I'm not his mother. Even so..._"Goodnight, Harm," and she kissed him full on the lips before leaving the room.

With Mac gone, Harm heaved a sigh of relief, and then flopped back onto the mattress and stared at the ceiling.

Sarah MacKenzie was not a woman to be trifled with. He was playing a dangerous game by attempting to balance Mac's desires with his own, all the while trying to maintain the friendship and professional relationship they had developed over the past two years.

It was losing the battle.

Harm looked around the room. There were just too many memories here. What Harm needed was for the two of them to get out of the house for a couple of days.

Harm took out his laptop, went online, and began researching the five star resorts in the San Diego area.

Beach season was over, but the possibility of seeing Mac in a swimsuit was irresistible. If she hadn't packed a swimsuit, he'd buy one for her.

_Maybe a red one-piece like Diane wore? Don't even think about it, Rabb. On the other hand, Mac is racked, but Diane had legs that wouldn't quit..._and he began to narrow his choices to beach resorts.

Back in her own room, Mac found a stack of neatly folded laundry on her bed along with two pieces of wrapped chocolate.

_Wow. Trish really is the ultimate mother._

Mac ate the chocolate, showered and then put on her long flannel nightgown.

After climbing into bed, she grabbed the second pillow, pulled it tightly against herself, and went to sleep imagining that Harm was lying next to her.

* * *

When Mac opened her eyes, she automatically reached across the bed, and was disappointed to find that the space beside her was cold. She used the head and then made the bed, making sure that the top sheet received perfect 45 degree hospital corners. Mac then joined the sheets with the blanket, making a 6-inch-wide fold running evenly across the mattress, while leaving 12 inches exposed between the fold and the headboard.

In Officers Candidate School, that 12 inch fold was measured down to 1/32 of an inch. It would have been less, but Staff Sergeant Hooper ran out of lines on her ruler.

Mac trembled at the thought of Hooper; a woman so mean it was said that she rolled her own tampons.

Mac's rackmate, Daphne, never got the hang of making her bed. One morning Mac made the bed for her. That night, Daphne didn't sleep in the bed. To keep it looking perfect for Staff Sergeant Hooper's inspection, Daphne slept on the floor beside the bed until 0430, when she had to get up so that firewatch could mop the floors.

The Instructor Sergeants messed with candidates heads constantly; highlighting failures at every opportunity and refusing to give credit for anything positive. Being a female candidate meant enduring critiques and name calling from the Instructors which were harsher than what the males received.

Because Mac was considered to be the platoon's prettiest girl, Hooper singled her out and began calling her a walking mattress.

"There's a mile of dick here at Quantico, but you won't get a single inch, sweetheart."

Mac wasn't at OCS to find a boyfriend. None of the girls were.

Mac's platoon was a diverse group of young women, some of whom had known lives of real hardship, including arbitrary violence and abuse. The Marine Corps offered these young women a comprehensible system of reward and punishment, clearly-defined tasks and a sense of collective self-esteem. Having a tryst with a male candidate was the last thing on their minds.

There were eight platoons in Mac's OCS class, but only one platoon was female. With 54 women in the all-female squad bay, and with no privacy, the mind games were frequent.

Mac was not sociable by nature. Some of the candidates considered her to be aloof, but after Mac went undefeated in pugil stick matches, even the biggest girls in the platoon wouldn't mess with her, at least not physically.

Instead they used "spear-evals" (peer evaluations) which were petty and unjust, and were one more thing that Mac had to deal with.

Mail call at OCS was a cause for celebration, but Mac's only correspondence was with her Uncle Matt, whose first letter to her read: 'You're going to get frustrated. You're going to scream, and you're going to want to cry, but you can do this. You can do anything, Sarah.'

During the ten week course the candidates were constantly watched and tested in stressful situations. They were monitored to learn how they handled being hot, dirty, sleep deprived, hungry, screamed at, and to see if they would snap under pressure or give up. No one cares if you are a good leader on a good day, candidates were evaluated when things got hard.

Mac's Platoon started with 54 and graduated 24; a much worse percentage than in the male platoons where over 70% of the candidates graduated. The drops included a combination of dropped on request- one girl decided to look into the Army- injuries, failed boards (academics), integrity violations, and shortcomings in leadership; especially leadership.

OCS was run by Senior NCOs, nearly all of them men. They decided who they wanted as officers in their Corps, and who they wanted leading their young Marines, and they didn't want those officers to be female.

The SNCOs at Quantico viewed the Marine Corps as an exclusive men's gun club, and they sought to keep it that way. Fewer than 8% of commissioned officers in the Corps were women, which gave the Marine Corps the lowest ratio of female officers in all of the U.S military branches.

At the Eagle Globe and Anchor graduation ceremony, Mac's Platoon Commander, a captain who had the unnerving habit of responding to questions with one-word answers, congratulated the new Marines.

"Welcome to the Corps. We live like soldiers and talk like sailors, and slap the shit out of both of them. We stole the eagle from the Air Force, the anchor from the Navy, and the rope from the Army. On the 7th day, while God rested, we over-ran his perimeter and stole the globe, and we've been running the show ever since."

"OORAH!"

Following the graduation ceremony, Staff Sergeant Brenda Hooper congratulated Mac. "You don't quit. I knew from the first day you were going to make it, but it wouldn't have been fair to the other candidates if you weren't tested. Lieutenant Mackenzie, you're going to become someone important in the Corps."

Mac placed both pillows centered on the 12-inch white space, 4 inches from the fold, and then tucked the blanket under the mattress tightly on both sides. She smoothed out the edges, and smiled knowing that a quarter would easily bounce 6 inches above the mattress.

_My father is a miserable SOB, but he taught me how to make a bed properly._

Mac tidied up the room and put on her freshly washed running clothes before going out in search of coffee.

Frank was already in the kitchen and was watching a repeat of Chuck DePalma's segment on US-Vietnamese relations on the TV.

"Good Morning. How about a cup of coffee?" and Frank switched off the set.

"That sounds wonderful, but what about yourself?"

"No coffee for me. I have a doctor's appointment this morning, so it will be Shredded Wheat with skim milk for breakfast. Where were you and Harm off to last night?"

"We went out to the gliderport and did a bit of star gazing."

"So that's what you two are calling it."

"Frank."

"I'm teasing you. Harm would go out there every now and then, but always alone."

_God help him if I find out that he took Diane there, _Mac thought.

"Trish would imagined all sorts of horrible things going on like drinking and drugs. Of course Harm would have never been involved with any of those things. What is it about mothers that makes them worry about their children so much?"

_Not all of them. Some mothers run away. _

"For most of Harm's life, his father was either deployed or MIA. For a child, safety comes in the form of a person who is predictable and stable. Trish was always there, and she is protective."

"Mother polar bears aren't as protective as Trish," said Frank, who decided to pour himself half a cup of coffee.

"Did the two of you consider having a child of your own? I'm sorry. That's none of my business."

"It's alright. When we were first married, Trish was still a young woman. We discussed adding to our family, although we weren't sure how Harm might react to having a younger brother or sister."

"Harm would have made a wonderful big brother. Did you want a boy or a girl?"

"I wanted a little girl."

"I thought as much."

"More than that, I wanted someone who would call me daddy, and not Frank, like Harm does."

"Harm loves you like a father. He just can't say it," explained Mac.

_I need him to say it._

"The baby never happened. I suppose it wasn't meant to be." Frank shrugged and then finished his coffee. "Are you ready for our walk?"

"I'm looking forward to it."

"I'll have to take it easy this morning, but if I'm moving too slow, feel free to break away."

"Frank, I never want to break away from you."

"That's my girl."

* * *

With Frank not wanting to exert himself, their pace was slower. It was also work day, so traffic on the local streets was heavy, and Mac was happy to do several laps around the park.

"This old man needs a break," and Frank sat down on a bench which had a marvelous view of the ocean.

"I keep telling you that there isn't an old man here," said Mac, who sat down next to him. "Can I ask you something? It's about the family, and it's personal."

"I getting too old to keep secrets. Father Time is arranging for my silence."

"I wish you wouldn't talk like that."

"With my bum ticker, I've been on borrowed time since I was in grade school. What do you want to know about Harm...I mean about our family?"

"I watched Chuck DePalma's report on Vietnam last night. When I asked Trish about Harm's trip to Vietnam, she became upset. I asked Harm about it last night at the gliderport, and all that he told me was that you traveled with him to Thailand. Harm won't say anything at all about Vietnam."

"It's not a pretty story. But after everything you and Harm went through in Russia, I suppose that you should hear it. Please don't tell Harm that I shared it with you."

"Of course I won't tell him."

"After American forces withdrew from Vietnam there was no reason to believe that Harm Senior was ever coming home. Other than a notification of his promotion, there had been no official updates from the Navy in over four years. That was when Trish began the process of declaring him dead in absentia."

"That must have been difficult for her."

"It was, but it was her decision. Other than my referring her to an attorney, I didn't push the issue. Once Trish and I were married, Trish's allotment checks stopped, but Harm continued to draw a benefit check from the Navy every month. Harm began by hiring investigators who claimed they had contacts inside Vietnam."

"That's quite an undertaking for such a young man."

"There were wives and families of other MIAs doing the same thing. All of the investigators proved to be charlatans- scum of the earth in my opinion. I suggested that Harm use the Freedom of Information Act to get the report filed by the US Air Force personnel who attempted the rescue on Christmas Eve, 1969. When the official report arrived it had been so heavily redacted that it left more questions than answers. That's when Harm began to formulate a plan to go into Vietnam himself."

"And you took it seriously?"

"Harm was a very serious young man. In high school he was completely focused on gaining an appointment to the Naval Academy. When he shifted his attention to Vietnam, I took notice."

"How did you feel about the trip?"

"I felt that if there was the slimmest chance of uncovering information about his father, it would be worth it. Our plan was to go to Thailand, which would put us much closer to Vietnam and would allow us to hire investigators who were boots on the ground. Harm was 16, so it was impossible for him to travel abroad alone. I had been to Singapore and Hong Kong, and because I had a bit of experience in Asia, it was decided that I would accompany him."

"Trish wouldn't go?"

"No, and lets leave it at that."

"I'm sorry."

"Harm contacted Gary Grissom. Gary was member of Harm Senior's old squadron who left the Navy to fly with Air America, the CIA's private airline. Gary put Harm in contact with Colonel Francis Stryker, who was investigating rumors of Americans still being held in Vietnam."

"I don't know Colonel Stryker, but Harm mentioned that Grissom flew with his father on the _Ticonderoga_."

"Gary is a good man, and unlike Tom Boone, he wasn't interested in marrying Trish. Stryker was a career army officer and part of SOG, the Study and Observations Group of the Army Special Forces, which was the CIA's muscle in Vietnam. After American forces withdrew from Vietnam, Stryker remained in Saigon as the senior military advisor to CIA Head of Station Neville Webb, the father of your friend Clayton."

"Webb is an acquaintance. He is not a friend."

"During the evacuation of Saigon, Gary Grissom co piloted the Air America helicopter which evacuated Neville Webb and Stryker out of Vietnam. Also on board was a South Vietnamese Air Force colonel, and a general in the South Vietnamese National Police and his family. The colonel claimed to have information about American POWs still being held in Vietnam, but he refused to divulge any of it until he was living safely in the United States. Not long after Grissom's chopper landed on the _Hornet, _the Vietnamese colonel was put on a US Navy flight to Guam, but the aircraft went down and was lost as sea."

_The book! My god. How much did Webb really know?_

"Stryker maintained the colonel's POW claims were factual, and after retiring from the army he began investigating on his own. Stryker knew how to gain entry into Vietnam through a network of guides, which routes to take, and which police to bribe. He was willing to return to Vietnam, and to take Harm with him."

"No doubt for a fee."

"Money was needed for airfare and to hire the guides, but Stryker didn't want a fee. Stryker was tight with Chuck DePalma, so it was agreed that if Harm discovered anything about his missing father, Chuck was to be given an exclusive on the story, including book and movie rights."

"A typical reporter."

"Chuck's arrangement was the least of our concerns. At that time visas for Vietnam were impossible for Americans to obtain. This meant Harm and Stryker would first have to cross from Thailand and into Laos, which was still recovering from a civil war. The Pathet Lao government was not recognized by the United States, so once again, a visa was out of the question."

"It sounds risky," and Mac remembered the risks they'd taken in Russia.

"More than I had imagined. If Harm and Stryker were apprehended inside Laos or Vietnam, there would be no way to get them out." Frank bit his lower lip. "The night before we were set to leave for Thailand, Trish begged Harm not to go through with it. She was afraid he would disappear in Vietnam...just like his father."

"She could have forbid Harm to make the trip."

"Trish has never denied Harm anything. She remained adamant that the entire trip be canceled, but I felt that Harm and I could better assess the situation from Thailand. It put a rift between Trish and myself, and even now it remains a sore subject for both of us."

"I saw first hand how upset she became when I brought up the subject last night."

"Harm and I flew to Manila, and then on to Bangkok. Then we met up with Stryker, who had been in the country for a week setting things in motion. Crossing into Laos from Thailand at any known border checkpoint was out of the question, so we went by bus to Thoeng, a small northern city near the Laotian border which ran along the Phu Sang National Park. Stryker set me up in a local hotel in Thoeng which had a reliable telephone service. This was vital because there was no email back in those days, and the primitive cell phones were useless."

"Did you still want Harm to go through with it?"

"No. I felt the entire plan was too dangerous. I wanted Harm to back out, but he was committed. The next morning, Harm and I met Stryker in the hotel lobby. Before they left, Harm told me that if he wasn't back in a month, I should return home because by then he wouldn't be coming back."

"My god, for him it was all of nothing."

"There was nothing I could do except to go back to the room and phone Trish. I made a supreme effort to sound upbeat, but I had doubts that I would see Harm again."

"Was there ever any contact?"

"I heard nothing for five days. Then a Thai man on a motor scooter pulled up in front of the hotel and asked for me by name. He held out a piece of paper and demanded $20, which I paid. The note read- 'Crossing to Vietnam. All is well. Love to Mom. Bad Man.' Bad Man had been Harm Senior's call sign. It was our prearranged code, so I knew the note was genuine."

"The message must have been a relief."

"It was short lived because I heard nothing more. Trish called twice a day, but there was nothing I could tell her. After three weeks had passed, I was deeply concerned. Harm had instructed me to go home after a month, but if he wasn't back by then I intended to go into Vietnam myself and look for him."

"You're not only a good man, Frank, you're a good father."

"On the 28th day the hotel manager called me down to the lobby where a taxi driver was demanding $500. A man was laying on the sofa, but I barely recognized him as being Harm. He'd lost 20 pounds, and he was skinny to begin with. I paid the money, and then told the hotel manager to call a doctor. Harm could barely walk so I helped him to the room. He had numerous insect bites and stings, and a nasty ulceration on the inside of his right leg. He had also acquired parasites from drinking contaminated water, and he was running a fever."

"Was Harm taken to a hospital?"

"I wanted to move Harm to a hospital, but the doctor advised against it. The hospital would notify the police, which would only complicate matters. The doctor insisted that he could provide better treatment in the hotel room, and with no questions asked. He was true to his word because other than the parasites, Harm made a quick recovery."

"Did Harm and Stryker actually get into Vietnam?"

"Yes. Their guide was a young Vietnamese woman named Bian, which means 'woman with secrets' in Vietnamese."

"Did they find the crash site?"

"They never got close. The terrain surrounding the crash site was far too rugged to approach, and there was a military outpost nearby. Harm felt it might have been the base which launched the SAM that shot down his father."

The events of tape that Clay had given to Harm now came together in Mac's mind.

"By then the Vietnamese police were aware of their presence, but thanks to Bian, they made it safely out of Vietnam and into Laos. Harm told Bian to go back to Vietnam, but she insisted on continuing with him. Their Laotian guides took them along a route which was riddled with opium fields. That was when they were jumped by bandits."

"What a nightmare."

"Harm and Stryker tried to bribe their way out of trouble by using the last of their money, but the bandits held out for more. Then their Laotian guides turned on them. To show that they meant business, one of the guides shot Bian, who died at Harm's feet."

"Oh my god."

"That night, Harm managed slip out of his restraints. He was freeing Stryker, when one of the guards, the same one who shot Bian, approached them. Harm strangled him with a boot lace while Striker killed the second guard with his bare hands." Frank looked at Mac. "Trish knows nothing about that."

"I'll never saw a word," Mac vowed.

"Harm and Stryker escaped, but the bandits were hot on their trail. To make matters worse, the Laotian Army was also searching for them. When they reached the National Park they split up, with Stryker leading the bandits and the army away from Harm. It worked. Harm made it through the Park and then back into Thailand. He had no money, but he promised a taxi driver $500 if the driver would get him to our hotel in Thoeng. Five hundred dollars. I would have given everything I possessed to get my son back."

It did not escape Mac's attention that Frank considered Harm to be his own son.

"When Trish telephoned the hotel that night, Harm was exhausted, but he spoke to her. Harm said that he hadn't discovered anything about his father, while leaving out the unspeakable details of the trip. Trish then asked me when we were coming home. Harm was in no condition to travel, so I told her that the two of us were having such a good time in Thailand we had decided to extend our trip for another two weeks. When we finally got home, Harm still looked ragged, but we explained it away as being caused by the parasites he'd picked up on our side trip."

Mac slowly shook her head. "That's an incredible story. If we were talking about anyone other than Harmon Rabb Junior, I wouldn't have believed any of it."

"I sometimes can't believe it myself. I suppose the only good thing that happened was that Harm and I became much closer after the trip."

"Did Stryker escape from Laos?"

"When Harm and arrived at home there was a card waiting for us postmarked from Hong Kong. 'That was one hell of a good time. Let me know when you want to go back. FS'."

"And Chuck DePalma? Did he get a story?"

"No. As far as I know, Harm didn't see Chuck again until 1995 when he and Kate Pike were in Naples and they were assigned to a murder investigation aboard the _Seahawk."_

Mac grimaced at the mention of Caitlin Pike, who had been Harm's first partner. Kate was tall, slender, and pretty, and she was a graduate of the Naval Academy- just like Diane Schonke.

Kate Pike was the type of woman that Harm liked, and Mac could only imagine what went on between the two of them in Naples.

_Did Harm invite Kate to La Jolla? _Mac was desperate to ask Frank that question, but she decided against it.

"Mac, if Harm learned that I've told you what went on in Vietnam, and what he had to do...well, he would never speak to me again."

_My god, this family has a lot of secrets._

"Frank, I swear that I will never say a word to anyone about this conversation."

"That's my girl. Now let's go and have our breakfast."


	11. Chapter 11

[A/N] I have traveled through SE Asia and found the peoples of Thailand, Laos and Vietnam among the friendliest and most hospitable on this planet- to say nothing of the amazing food. This story is pure fiction. It is in not intended to disparage any Asian peoples or ethnic groups.

[A/N-2] My thanks to former Sergeant First Class Frank S., 3rd Battalion, 5th Special Forces Group, who served in northern Afghanistan in 2001 as part of Task Force Dagger. The methods depicted in this story actually work. I saw one demonstrated, but passed up the chance to experience the others firsthand.

* * *

Chapter 11

It was sweltering. There was a slight breeze; not enough to cool, but enough to carry the smell of the poppies growing in the nearby fields. It was an earthy smell, almost like raw potatoes.

Harm and Stryker had been stripped bare of money, watches, and all of their personal gear. Literally everything except the clothes on their backs.

Their two Lao guides had turned on them and stood off to the side. Whether they had purposefully lead them into a trap, or if they were simply trying to save their own skins didn't matter. Both men were now the enemy.

Stryker could speak Vietnamese, as well as the Nung and Hmong dialectics reasonably well. He tried speaking to the leader in Hmong. "_Koj yog kuv tus phooj ywg_ (You are my friend)."

It brought no response.

Stryker surmised the bandits were Akha people, a small ethnic group living in northern Laos, and the poorest of all the hill tribes. Nearly three-quarters of Laos was covered in mountains and forested hills that are too steep to live on, much less farm. Life was hard for the tribes. It was worse was that the Akha, who were not treated or addressed as equals in Laotian society, having long been subject to rights abuses.

More failed attempts were made to communicate with the leader, but one thing was clear in any language: the Americans were believed to be CIA.

Harm instructed Bian to tell only the truth. It was their only hope.

The bandit leader spoke poor Vietnamese so that Bian was having trouble communicating with him. She struggled to explain that Harm was an American student who was looking for his father who had gone missing during the war, and that Stryker was his friend. Everyone could keep their "gifts" because all that the Americans wanted now was to return home to America.

The leader seemed to be thinking it over when one of the Laotian guides stepped forward. He was the shorter of the pair, and he began screaming that Bian's story was lies. Harm was CIA and the man with him was CIA. He further claimed that Harm was from a wealthy family who would pay many thousands of American dollars for his freedom. The guide declared Bian to be a Catholic, and a Vietnamese agent who was working for the American government.

Christianity had long been meet with suspicion in Laos, where 95% of the population was Buddhist or practiced Tai folk religion. Bian did not deny her religion, but explained once more that Harm was a student looking for his missing father. She then added that Harm's mother was a poor woman living alone and who would have no money for ransom.

An argument had erupted between the leader and the guide, who had snatched away a Tokarov pistol from one of the bandits.

In an effort to make Harm confess, the guide moved next to Bian and put the pistol to her head.

"She's just a girl. She hasn't done anything," Harm pleaded. He took a step forward, but the bandit's rifles and carbines were aimed directly at him.

Bian looked at Harm. He was so handsome. She spoke his name, and then she began to pray.

When she reached "Pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death," the guide screamed, "_E haanee_ (bitch)!"

"Dừng làm điều đó (don't do it)," Stryker shouted in Vietnamese.

The guide laughed, pulled the trigger, and shot Bian in the head.

Bian pitched over and fell dead at Harm's feet, some of her blood and brain matter splattering onto his boots.

During the ensuing commotion, Stryker made a grab for the Tokarov, but he was struck by a rifle butt and knocked to the ground unconscious.

Harm dropped to his knees and took Bian in his arms. He looked up at the leader. "You didn't have to do that."

The guide began ridiculing Harm by calling him a little girl, and worse. He pointed the Tokarov at Harm, but the leader shouted something to one of the bandits, who took the pistol away.

Harm was forced to his feet and made to watch Bian's body being dragged away and dumped into a ditch. Rope was produced, and a bandit began to tie Harm's hands behind his back. Harm was nearly a foot taller than the bandit so he was made to bend down so that his hands could be more easily bound.

When the bandit had finished, he boasted that he'd made the American bow to him.

Unbeknownst to anyone, bending down had allowed Harm to keep his elbows slightly spread, which had left just a bit of slack in the rope.

The noise of the gunshot might bring the Army, so the bandits decided to put some distance between themselves and the poppy field. Striker was revived and his hands were bound before the group trekked off into the hills.

It was difficult going. By the time the group set up camp for the night, everyone was tired. No food or water was offered to Harm or Stryker, who were seated opposite each other and leaning up against large rocks. Their feet were tied, but no one checked the ropes which bound their hands.

The sun dropped quickly in the hills. The bandits were not professional soldiers so they were scattered in groups, and with no security perimeter established. By the time that the moon had risen, everyone in camp was sleeping; including the two guides who were now acting as guards.

It was time for action.

Stryker had been lashed tightly, but Harm had retained the slack in the rope which bound his hands.

Harm was an athlete; slender and flexible. Even with his long arms, it took three attempts before he was able to bring his hands from behind his back and then around his legs so that his hands were in front of him.

Harm tried to untie the knot which bound his feet, but the bandit who had tied it would have made a good boatswains mate. It would take a marlinspike to loosen the knot.

Stryker silently indicated Harm to check his boots, which were laced with 550 paracord, a lightweight nylon cord originally used in the suspension lines of parachutes, and infinitely stronger than the hemp rope Harm was tied with.

Harm laboriously unlaced his left boot and after removing the lace, he grasped it tightly in his fingers and then placed it against the rope which secured his feet. With Stryker's urging, Harm began rapidly moving his arms back and forth so that the boot lace sawed through the rope to free his feet.

Harm now made a large loop on both ends of the boot lace. He placed one loop over his left boot and the second loop around the right boot, which will still splattered with Bian's blood. Holding the paracord hard against the rope which bound his hands, Harm got on his back with his feet up and in front of him, and then began moving his legs as if he were riding a bicycle.

The paracord cut through the rope in under thirty seconds and Harm was free.

Harm moved over to Stryker and was using the paracord to cut the rope which bound his hands when he heard a noise behind him. Harm turned and saw it was same man who had killed Bian. Their eyes locked for split second before Harm lunged at the man, grabbing him at the throat and stifling his scream.

Harm pulled the guide to the ground, wrapped his legs tightly around his torso and then slipped the paracord over his head and around his neck. Grasping both loops of the improvised garrote, Harm pulled it taut and began to strangle him.

The guide was kicking and fighting hard to save his life. His thrashing brought the second guide, but by now Stryker was on his feet. Despite his legs still being tied, Stryker hopped across the ground and before the second man could react, Stryker had his head in an armlock and then snapped his neck in one quick movement.

The first guard was already dead, but Harm was consumed with rage and continued throttling him. Stryker pulled Harm off and made a quick check of the bodies for weapons or tools. The first man had a small knife in his pocket which had belonged to Harm, which Stryker now used it to cut the rope around his legs.

Once Stryker was free, he and Harm raced away into the hills and the chase began.

Harm awoke with his undershirt ringing wet with sweat. It had been several months since he'd had that dream, and he couldn't understand why he would have it now.

It was Mac. She had asked him about Vietnam and had seemed dissatisfied with his story.

Mac was always curious. She would leave no stone unturned, which was why she was an outstanding investigator.

But there was something else about Mac. Something that Rusza, the gypsy girl in Russia, had recognized.

"This one has the gift" was what she'd said.

_What if Mac really can read minds or monitor dreams?_

With that thought, Harm showered and shaved, and then put on his Academy warm ups before straightening up the room.

When folding the sofa bed, Harm paid particular attention to its latching mechanism.

_No sense inviting more trouble._

Harm was ready to go to the kitchen when he heard a knock on the door.

"Good morning, Darling," said Trish, who was carrying a tray with Harm's breakfast.

"Breakfast in bed? You're spoiling me, Mom."

"That's what I'm here for," and Trish set the tray on the desk. "Sit down and have your breakfast. Then I want to talk to you."

Harm's appetite suddenly disappeared.

"Are Mac and Frank back from their walk?" he asked hopefully.

"Not yet. Now sit down and eat."

When Harm finished his breakfast, Trish motioned for him to join her on the sofa.

"I want to talk to you about Sarah MacKenzie._"_

"Sure," and Harm sat down next to his mother.

"What are your intentions with Sarah?"

"She's my best friend."

"In two short weeks, you're going to be thirty five years old. At this stage of your life, Sarah should be much more than your friend."

"Please, Mom."

"Sarah loves you, Harmon."

"I know that."

"And?" Trish asked point blank.

"I love her too."

"Have you told her?"

"I told her last night, at the gliderport."

Trish's tone was stinging. "Your excitement level is off the scale."

"It was a mistake. I'm not the right man for Mac."

"How can you not be the right man?"

"Mac needs a man who will focus all of his attention on her."

"Harmon, deep down every woman wants that. Instead we settle for what time we can get."

"I can't be that man for Mac. At least not right now."

"For a long time you and I were all that each other had. We were always open and honest with each other. Tell me what it is that's bothering you."

Harm went to his briefcase and removed a copy of the July issue of the Western Journal of Medicine which had one of the pages flagged. He handed the journal to his mother, who opened it to an article on laser refractive surgery for pilots.

"You plan to fly again. Does Sarah know?"

"No, she doesn't. Are you going to tell her?"

Trish's feathers were ruffled. "Of course not. That's not my place. And while you may not believe it, I know my place in your life. Just the same, if you do love Sarah, you'll tell her."

"Mac and I are going to have a long talk tomorrow morning to get our feelings an expectations for a relationship out in the open."

"And you plan tell her then."

"Right now there is nothing to tell."

"Harmon!"

"Before I can take the first step, I need to consult with an ophthalmologist in DC who specializes in aviation, as well as a two other aviation ocular specialists."

"But the surgery will allow you to fly again."

"That's not certain. After the surgery I'll have to face a Navy Flight Surgeon, and then the medical board. Because of the trip to Russia everything will have to be rescheduled. I doubt it will come together until early next year."

"You must know that it's going to take an act of god to have the medical board sign off on your returning to Group 1 unrestricted flight status."

Harm knew full well how few of the aviators who had been bumped down to Group 3 (restricted) had regained their previous status. "I didn't imagine that it would be easy."

"But you've never failed at anything you've attempted. Which is why Sarah needs to know about your desire to return to active flight status. Sarah is every bit as smart as she is beautiful, and if she finds this out after the fact...well, women can fall out of love, and it's not pretty."

"Mac does have a temper."

"Deservedly so, after all she's been through in her life."

"How would you feel about my flying again?"

"We're discussing Sarah."

"I'd like to know where I stand with you."

"Ask any mother whose son wants to leave the safety of a job in the Staff Corps to fly jet fighters, and you'd get an answer you wouldn't want to hear. But you're my son, and you are a Rabb. The cockpit of a Navy fighter is where you belong. Just like your father and your grandfather."

"How did you feel about dad flying?"

Trish thought back to the Summer of 1964 when Little Harm was eight months old and her husband and his squadron were making ready to deploy to Vietnam.

It had been more than ten years since Korea, so this was the first time that all but the most senior members of the squadron had combat deployed. Excitement was running high among the aviators. Less so for their wives, who had grown accustomed to the stability of life in a peacetime Navy.

Trish and Big Harm were in their bedroom, with Harm was looking down on his sleeping son, who had just transitioned from a bassinet to a crib.

Harm gave Trish his smile, which always made her melt. "You've given us a fine looking boy. He's already so big that he'll probably be sleeping in a real bed when I come home."

"He's 30 inches. That's big for a 8 month old, but I think he's a bit underweight."

"Thin is okay. I just hope he doesn't grow up to be too tall to fit into a cockpit."

Harm kissed the tip of his right index finger and gently touched it to the forehead of his sleeping son, and then went outside to smoke a cigar.

Harm and Trish stood next to each other on the front porch and watched as a flight of four A-4C Skyhawks flew over the house.

"Those are Danny Jink's boys from VA-146 on the _Constellation. _I wish we were flying off the _Connie, _and not an old Essex Class carrier,_" _said Harm.

"Your squadron will get their chance at a 'supercarrier'," Trish said.

"It's been a rough couple of weeks. Al Cherry cracked up on landing at Miramar on Monday. He'll be okay- just up a couple of bruised ribs. That's good, because we need Al." Harm blew a cloud of cigar smoke away from Trish. "Gary Grissom is still in the Naval hospital with a sprained back and a separated shoulder after punching out from his F-8 last Wednesday."

"Will Grits recover?" Trish asked in a concerned voice.

"Grits is as tough as nails, but he's former rotary wing and right now there is a huge demand for helicopter pilots. If the doc's don't OK him for deployment and he stays behind, we might lose him." Harm broke into a smile. "Tom and Bill have a plan to bust Grits out of the hospital and take him along with us anyway. I swear, those two and their wild schemes..."

Trish took hold of her husband's arm. "Are you ever afraid?"

When Harm turned to face Trish, his blue eyes were as cold as steel. "Not ever."

"Why? or don't you allow yourself to think about it?"

"I doubt that there is anyone who hasn't asked himself at least once during night traps, 'What the hell and I doing up here?' Of course after we've trapped, we conveniently forget that we asked ourselves that question."

"Then why do you do it?" Trish pleaded. "I know it's not for the flight pay."

"I do it for the chance to do something that few other men can do...and to show that I do it better than anyone else."

"And the danger?"

Harm took his young wife in his arms and held her tightly. "It lets me appreciate all of the wonderful things that I have in my life even more."

Inside the study, Harm was looking at his mother. "Mom. I asked how you felt about dad flying."

Trish looked up at her son and whispered, "You don't get to ask that question."

"I'm sorry. Until right now I never knew how you really felt."

Trish took hold of her son's hands and looked into his eyes. "Darling, you've been an endless source of pride for me. You are my life's greatest accomplishment." Harm smiled at his mother who quickly added, "Harmon, every time I see that smile, I know that it's really your father who is smiling at me. Oh God, I miss him so much. It's just not fair..."

Now it was Harm's turn to hold his mother, and after she had cried, he dried her tears.


	12. Chapter 12

[A/N] I admire those fan fiction authors who were able to update their stories over the holidays. As for me...procrastination is an art form. Once again, I want to thank all of those who are taking the time to read my story. I read every review and consider them carefully.

* * *

Chapter 12

Monday, 12 October, 1998  
0715 PDT  
The Carlton Café  
La Jolla, CA

It was a workday morning, so the Café was crowded, but Frank and Mac were seated promptly.

Kitty was at the table immediately. "Good morning, Frank. It's nice to see you again, Sarah. Coffee for both of you?"

"Black coffee for me," said Mac.

"Just water. I have a doctor's appointment this morning," said Frank.

"Then you'll want the usual doctor's breakfast."

Frank grimaced. "I'm afraid so."

Kitty grinned. "One order of Shredded Wheat with skim milk, and a sliced banana. What about you, Sarah?"

"For god sake Mac, order something good," Frank pleaded.

"Biscuits and gravy, with a side of sausage patties."

Frank gave Mac a thumbs up. "That will put hair on your chest."

"We're very busy right now, but I'll push your orders through," said Kitty.

Frank took a sip of his water. "Mac, with all that I've told you about our family this morning, I hope I'm not scaring you away."

"Far from it. I enjoy talking with you"

"Trish and Harm share a remarkable bond, so it's equally nice for me to have someone to confide in. Sometimes I feel like an outsider looking in on the Rabbs."

"You shouldn't feel that way. Trish has been married to you much longer than she was married to Harm Senior."

"That's true, but it's hard to compete with a memory. Maybe that's why I drone on with my stories."

"You're a good story teller."

"I suppose that will come in handy...when I'm a grandfather." Frank winked at Mac, who rolled her eyes.

"Not you too."

"I can't deny that I've thought about grand kids, and I know that Trish has. Trish will be a wonderful grandmother, but only when she finds the perfect daughter in law."

"I'm far from being perfect," Mac admitted. "If Trish knew the things that I've done as a kid, she wouldn't let me into her house to scrub her floors, much less consider my marrying her son."

"Each of us is more than the worst thing we've ever done. I honestly believe that."

"Frank, you are the sweetest and kindest man I've ever met. What could you have done to anyone?"

"The auto industry is dog eat dog. You don't climb to senior management without stepping on people. I made a lot of enemies along the way."

"I just hate the idea of my disappointing both of you. When I left JAG for private practice, I disappointed Admiral Chegwidden. I only recently got back on the Admiral's good side...if he has one."

Frank laughed. "The reason that Trish has such high expectations is because Harm has never failed at anything, and he's excelled at everything. Harm captained his baseball and basketball teams, was the valedictorian of his high school class, and he graduated fifth in his class at the Naval Academy. He was also at the top of his class in flight school and law school."

"You sound like a proud father." By now Mac knew that Frank considered Harm to be his own son.

"No man could have asked for a better son." Frank heaved a sigh. "I was a disappointment to my own father."

"With all that you've achieved, how can you say that?"

"My dad was a rugged man who enjoyed sports and the outdoors, neither of which I could participate in. With my heart condition, I couldn't even join the Boy Scouts. When Harm received his Eagle Scout Badge, Trish and I each received matching pins. Trish wore hers with pride, but I felt guilty every time I looked at my own pin."

"There is more to life than hiking and scouting."

"During World War Two, while all of my school friends were collecting scrap metal and rubber, I was a summer intern as an office assistant in the Office of Price Administration checking ration books for counterfeit coupons. During Korea, I was behind a desk in the Chrysler design bureau."

"Those were important duties."

"My father served in two world wars, but I couldn't even get into uniform. I let him down."

"Even if you had been in the military, you wouldn't have had a choice of duty assignments. I love the Corps, but Marines are never given a choice about anything...we just receive orders."

"Other men my age did much more."

"Someone always does more, Frank. That's why they are awarded medals. Your dad was a Marine, so he'd understand that."

Kitty brought their breakfasts to the table, and Frank let out a groan when she sat the bowl of cold cereal in front of him. "This is no way to live," he told Mac, who laughed.

Kitty couldn't help but notice how relaxed Frank and Sarah were in each others company. She imagined her own daughter being married to Harmon Rabb and sitting where Sarah was right now.

"So, Sarah, are you and Harm hitting it off?"

"Yes we are. Thank you for asking," Mac replied in a haughty tone.

Frank discreetly waved his hand to Kitty, who refilled Mac's coffee cup and then left the table.

Mac dug into her breakfast. "The biscuits and gravy are very good."

Frank admired Mac's healthy appetite, and her love for the same sorts of comfort foods that he enjoyed. "Let the Rabb's have their fresh fruit and yogurt. There's nothing like starting off the day with a hearty breakfast."

Frank had no way of knowing that growing up in the MacKenzie household meant a good meal was often hard to come by.

Sarah MacKenzie went into the kitchen and brewed a cup of motor-oil strength coffee. Breakfast? Who had time to cook, not that there was a thing in the house to eat.

Sarah had learned that when she wanted a meal she would let one of the boys at school buy lunch for her. Then the boy would sit next to her and watch her eat; acting as though he had won some sort of contest.

Lunch was safe, but dinner? That was a risky proposition. Plenty of guys were asking Sarah out, but many of them expected her to sleep with them. Sarah was still a virgin, and she intended to stay one.

Sarah poured her coffee and then grabbed an energy bar from the pantry. She peeled away the foil wrapper and discarded it without so much as taking a glance. Why bother? All of the bars tasted the same. After all, how many sugar variations can fit into one small flat rectangle?

Joe MacKenzie staggered into the kitchen. "Give me some of that coffee." Joe took a sip from the cup and winced. "Your coffee tastes like crap. Make me breakfast before you go to school."

"Make breakfast out of what? Thin air. There isn't a dime left in the account, and your pension won't be deposited until Monday."

"What do we do for food?"

"You're asking me? You're the provider- so provide."

"Stuck up little tramp."

"Fend for yourself. I'm staying with Eddy this weekend."

Eddie was Sarah's best friend, and her drinking buddy. By now their drinking had progressed from just enough to get through the rough spots in both of their lives, to becoming a part of their lives.

"Like hell you are. I forbid you to go."

Sarah was no longer afraid of her father. "I come and go as I please. By noon you'll be so drunk that you won't remember this conversation."

"Go ahead and walk out on me, just like your worthless mother."

"You two deserved each other," Sarah spat.

"Don't take that tone with me. When Deanne found out she was pregnant, she begged me to stand by her and marry her."

"You're pathetic. When you were a platoon sergeant, your men must have thought that you were a joke."

"I have a Navy and Marine Corps Achievement Medal, a Purple Heart, and a Bronze Star with a Valor Device. I was a 4.0 Marine. The men in my platoon respected me."

"_Noblesse oblige."_

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Someone must act in a fashion that conforms to the reputation that he has earned. Now do something useful and crawl back into bed."

It was the first time that Sarah had left the house with her father speechless. It was a small victory, but a series of small victories can win wars.

Frank looked across the table. "Are you okay, Mac?"

"Sure I am. Here, why don't you have one of my sausage patties." Mac slid her plate across the table and Frank helped himself.

"Promise you won't tell Trish?" Frank asked.

"You have my word."

"That's my girl."

* * *

Monday, 12 October, 1998  
1115 EDT  
JAG Headquarters  
Falls Church, VA

"Commander Rabb is on line two, sir," Tiner told the Admiral.

"It's good to hear from you, Harm. How are things in La Jolla?"

"Everything is fine, sir. Thank you for asking. I'm wondering how things are going on your end?"

"Busy, but we're getting by." It was a lie. Even with Lt. Commanders Imes and Mattoni, and Lt. Bud Roberts stepping up by doing the work of a litigator and a Legalman, Chegwidden's personnel were stretched thin. "How did you mother take the news about your father?"

"The two of us have had some long talks. She's dealing with it quite well."

"Your mother is a strong woman. Be sure to give her my regards."

"Of course, sir. If you need me for anything, don't hesitate to call."

"Wrap things up as best you can. I want to see you and Mac at your desks first thing Monday morning...and ready to work." Chegwidden hung up the phone without waiting for a reply.

Even with the return of Rabb and MacKenzie, the office would remain understaffed. That was hardly news; JAG offices were understaffed from Bahrain to Yokosuka.

With little to no chance of finding an unassigned US naval officer, Chegwidden had to look elsewhere.

One possibility was the US Navy's Exchange Officer Program with its allies. Chegwidden had Tiner bring him in the personnel files of foreign naval personnel who were offering their services to the US Navy.

The Admiral was glancing over the files when a Lt. Commander in the Royal Australian Navy caught his eye.

The man was a dual citizen of Australia and the United States, which meant he would be eligible for US security clearances. He had a law degree from Georgetown University, as well as three combat awards, including Conspicuous Service Cross, Australian Active Service Medal and a Kuwait Liberation Medal.

Chegwidden looked at the Commander's FITREPs and saw that his marks were mostly Excellent or Superior. There was a single low mark for military bearing and discipline, including a notation stating that the Commander tended to be outspoken.

_That's not necessarily a bad thing, _the Admiral thought. _In any case, he can't be any worse than Rabb._

The Commander had an impressive win to loss ratio in the courtroom, and that he had served as counsel on the South Pacific Peacekeeping Force during Operation Lagoon, which had been established during the Bougainville Civil War. He had also participated in the Truce Monitoring Group.

The situation in Iraq was heating up, so experience in international affairs could prove useful. Under the 1991 Gulf War cease-fire resolution, Iraq pledged full compliance to UN inspections to determine whether the nation had destroyed its nuclear, biological, and ballistic weapons. Baghdad continued to impede inspections, finally putting a complete halt to them in Aug. 1998.

Chegwidden flipped through the pages to Commander's personal biography and liked what he saw. The Commander was former professional boxer with a record of 10-0-1 in the light heavyweight class...all wins by knockout.

_Having an Australian __on staff should make things even more interesting around here. _

Chegwidden returned the file to Tiner. "Start the paperwork for Lieutenant Commander Michael Patrick Brumby, Royal Australian Navy, TDY to JAG."

"Aye aye, sir."

"Expedite it. I want Commander Brumby on staff before Thanksgiving Day."

"I'll see to it, sir."

"That will be all," and Chegwidden returned to his paperwork.

* * *

When Harm hung up the phone he felt as though a huge weight had been removed from his chest. Calling Admiral Chegwidden had been a wise choice. The Admiral would never call back, and Harm was now under no obligation to call again.

_One less thing to worry about. _

Now Harm had to focus his attention onto Mac. He already knew where he'd be taking her tomorrow for their talk, a talk which by now was impossible to avoid.

The possibility of his eye surgery complicated matters even more.

No matter how his mother felt about keeping information from Mac; mentioning the surgery his desire to return to active flight status was out of the question.

As for the rest of their conversation, Mac wasn't known for tossing softballs, but he'd beaten her in court and he could stand up to anything she could dish out.

_No sense worrying about that now. _

Harm reached for his phone and dialed the number of the Hotel Del Coronado. The hotel was located to the north of San Diego's Silver Strand, and had been a local landmark for over a century. During WWII, the hotel had housed naval aviators who were being trained at NAS North Island.

The tourist season was over, so there were ocean front suites available during the week. The ocean would be too cold for swimming, but the thought of Mac in a swimsuit was enticing, so Harm booked a suite near the main pool.

Harm had no sooner booked the hotel room when Mac and Frank returned home from their morning walk. The house suddenly erupted into a frenzy of activity while Frank prepared for his doctors appointment and Mac and Trish made ready for their spa day.

The house was large, but it seemed as though everyone was in each others way. It was times like this that Harm was thankful that he lived alone.

After what seemed an eternity, everyone departed, and Harm had the house to himself.

* * *

Monday, 12 October, 1998  
1030 PDT  
The Trimaran Spa  
La Jolla, CA

The Trimaran Spa was located six blocks from Trish's art gallery. Although the spa's exterior was somewhat Moorish, and not unlike The Alhambra in Spain, its interior was Grecian; not elaborate or imposing, but it gave the feeling of being pampered.

The spa's amenities included a fitness center, whirlpool, relaxation lounge, sauna and a steam room, and the list of spa services was extensive.

Mac selected the 90 minute signature massage, followed by a sea mud facial, and a milk and honey body wrap. A pedicure and manicure, then a deep conditioning hair treatment with a style and blow dry would follow. Trish selected the anti aging facial treatment, full body mask, followed by a hot stone massage, along with the same hair and nail services.

Before Mac could reach for her wallet, Trish had paid for them both.

"I wish you would have let me pay," said Mac. She was feeling guilty about Trish and Frank paying for everything.

"Nonsense. I invited you," Trish insisted.

"Thank you very much. This is a beautiful spa."

"If you were to consider taking the position at the gallery, we might sneak over here during a long lunch hour. When I come here during the week I have to leave my phone in my office, otherwise Marianne will be calling me within ten minutes."

Mac loathed inefficiency; most of all in women. Mac felt that inefficient women dragged down all women by association. She gave an Trish understanding nod and the two ladies made their way to the changing room.

Midway through the signature massage, Mac realized that it had been several months since she had felt so relaxed. She found herself seriously considering a future spent in La Jolla.

This was the lifestyle on offer: dinners at exclusive restaurants, afternoons spent at the spa, and of course running an art gallery, which Mac knew would be running even smoother once she fired Marianne.

But where would Harm fit in? He was not going to leave the Navy to spend his days playing golf with Frank.

Harm's degree from the Naval Academy was in aerospace engineering, which provided the basis for design and construction of aircraft and spacecraft. He could certainly get a job with any aerospace firm, but that would open the door open to flying, which his law career had severely curtailed.

Harm at the controls of a high performance jet was something which Mac could never accept. The risks were simply too great.

_I am not going to become a aviator's widow like Sarah Harmon Rabb, or Trish, or Annie Pendry. _

By the time she was in the milk and honey body wrap, Mac realized that making a life in La Jolla was not a viable option.

After finishing their spa treatments, Mac and Trish met and the lounge and relaxed with mint tea.

"I am planning a surprise birthday party for Harm on Friday night," Trish said.

"That sounds like fun. Who is coming?"

"Just a few of our close friends. It will be a good chance for you to meet them. I need you to get Harm out of the house on Friday afternoon, and then ensure that he returns at 1800- sharp. Can you manage that?"

"I think I can detain one naval officer for an afternoon."

"Would there be enough time for you to invite your parents? I'd like to meet them."

Mac's heart skipped a beat. _Dear God, why not just throw me out of your house right now._

"I'm estranged from my parents. I haven't seen either of them in years."

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Trish, who was clearly disappointed.

Mac felt as though she was under a microscope and being evaluated. Talking with Frank was easy, but talking with Trish always seemed a bit forced- like it sometimes was when talking with Harm.

"I'll be at the gallery on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. Do you and Harm have anything in the works during the week?" Trish asked.

"We have plans for tomorrow morning. I suppose we can do something in San Diego on Friday."

"You might consider going to the Air Museum in Balboa Park. It is a nice museum, and it has an extensive collection of aircraft on display."

Mac gave Trish a quizzical look.

"Sarah, I am the mother of a naval aviator, and the widow of another. Aviation is something that you must be prepared to accept. If you and Harm were to marry, at least one of your children will have the Rabb passion for flying."

"I don't want Harm to fly, and I don't want my children involved in aviation," Mac stated plainly.

Knowing that Harm hoped to return to active flight status, Trish wanted to change the subject. "Where are you and Harm going tomorrow?"

"I'm not certain, but we are going to sit down and discuss our relationship...such as it is."

"My son is like his father, which means you are going to have to be direct with your questions. Don't expect him to volunteer anything."

"I'd prefer not to treat Harm like a hostile witness during cross-examination. Besides, he knows my tactics for adducing evidence from witnesses in court."

"Just don't give him the chance to smile at you. The Rabb's most potent weapon is their smile."

"I experienced Harm's smile within five minutes of our first meeting, and numerous times since then. He uses it to advantage."

"As did his father." Trish looked at the clock on the wall. "We should get moving. Frank will be home by now, which means that the men are without supervision. Being men, they are apt to get into mischief. As a wife and a mother, and you being a significant-other, our duty is to prevent that from happening."

"I'm on board," said Mac, who had to admit that until her arrival in La Jolla a few days ago had never suspected that there was another side to Trish.

Although kind and generous to a fault, Trish Burnett was a strong willed woman who clearly wielded powerful influence over her son, as well as both of her husbands.


	13. Chapter 13

[A/N] I'm flattered by the continued interest in this story. Even after I took a holiday sabbatical, "From A Grateful Nation" has maintained a loyal readership in 32 different nations. Every review and private message is important to me. As is my habit, I read and consider them all.

* * *

Chapter 13

1135 PDT  
Monday, 12 October, 1998  
San Diego Cardiac Center  
San Diego, CA

When Frank Burnett walked through the hospital's sliding doors and out to the parking lot it felt as though a prison break was in progress. God, how he hated the place. Doctor Beckman sounded like a broken record: "You need to slow down and get more rest. Cut the red meat out of your diet, and quit drinking."

Frank was no youngster. Even without a bum ticker, how many years did he have left? Certainly not enough to pass up a thick steak and a few martinis after a round of golf at the club.

Frank unlocked his Chrysler New Yorker and tossed a small bag of prescription medications onto the passenger seat. The bag held a mix of meds, including Metoprolol- a powerful beta blocker.

Metoprolol was the worst. It sometimes made sleeping difficult, but Frank didn't care about that.

The medication left him impotent.

Up until three years ago, Frank thought of erectile dysfunction as a source for amusing jokes in the locker room of the club. Trish was a beautiful woman, and she remained every bit as desirable as when they'd first met. They had always enjoyed an active sex life. Then his heart condition worsened, and Frank began taking Metoprolol.

Frank buckled his seat belt and drove away from the hospital.

He needed a bit of cheering up. There was a Mexican restaurant a few blocks away and Frank felt like having a couple of tacos for lunch and washing them down with a cold beer, or maybe two.

El Caballito was a local place with good food, and it was always crowded during lunch hours. Frank skipped getting a table and went straight to the bar where he ordered a cold Pacifico. He wished that Mac was joining him for lunch. Frank enjoyed spending time with Mac. Their morning walks and breakfast stops were now the high point of his day.

Mac was an amazing young woman. Of course she was beautiful, but the world was filled with beautiful women. Back in his younger days, Frank had been with his share of good looking women, but most of them were shallow.

Sarah MacKenzie was anything but shallow. Even so, Frank could sense that Mac kept a lot hidden away- just like Harm did.

Holding things back was most certainly a Rabb trait. Trish was willing, if not insistent, on expressing her feelings about everything.

Right now, Trish felt that Harm and Mac should be married, and Frank suspected that the real purpose of Harm's surprise birthday party was for Harm and Mac to announce their engagement.

In the meantime, Trish was pulling out all of the stops with Mac. The pressure had reached borderline bribery. When Trish mentioned the salary she had in mind for Mac to manage the art gallery, Frank considered taking the job himself.

Frank knew that enticements like a high paying job wouldn't work with Mac, who seemed unimpressed with material things. Mac regretted leaving JAG for a big-money position in a private law firm so an affluent lifestyle with a lot of idle time- idle time which Frank suspected Trish planned to monopolize, wouldn't fit Mac any better than it did Harm.

Trish wouldn't give in (she seldom did). Last night she suggested that they invite Harm and Mac to join them on a Mediterranean cruise next spring.

Frank had laughed openly. Why would Mac want to take a cruise with Harm's parents? and why would Harm, who had spent months at sea before being assigned to JAG, want to go on a cruise at all? much less in the Med.

Frank thought back to the morning in April 1989 when the news broke that two F-14's had downed a Libyan MiG-23 and damaged another while on Combat Air Patrol 120 miles off the coast of Libya. The Tomcats were from Harm's squadron, VF-32 on the aircraft carrier _USS John F. Kennedy, _which had been in the Med since August 1988 and nearing the end of its deployment.

The names of the F-14 aircrews were not immediately released, but Frank had no doubt that Harm had shot down one of the MiGs.

When the full details of the incident and the names of the aviators were released the next day, Frank and Trish became local celebrities. Frank couldn't pay for a drink at the club for a month.

The San Diego News Magazine had sent a reporter to their house and published a full length article on Lt. Harmon Rabb Jr, whose background seemed ready made for a magazine article. They played up Harm being a native of San Diego, a graduate of the Naval Academy, and a third generation naval aviator whose grandfather had been killed in the Battle of Midway and whose father still listed as MIA in Vietnam.

The article contained several photos of Harm, including one in his dress whites. During the weeks that followed, the house was besieged with letters from girls around the country, and from around the world, who were anxious to become Mrs. Harmon Rabb Jr.

Trish painstakingly answered every letter and also returned any photos that the girls had included, many of them explicit.

Frank's jaw dropped at the sight of an especially lovely blond from Miami Beach, Florida. "We might not want to send her photo back."

Trish plucked the photo from Frank's fingers and shoved it into an envelope. "Tramps and whores, every one of them," she insisted.

When The _Kennedy _returned to Naval Station Mayport, Harm was granted 4 weeks leave.

Frank wanted to give Harm a heroes welcome at the club, but Trish had said no.

There had been enough publicity. She knew that all of the boasting, bragging, and bravado remained in the squadron ready room and stayed among the aviators. The things that occurred during combat were never discussed inside the house or among strangers.

"It would make me feel better if I knew what was really happening in Vietnam," Trish had asked Big Harm.

"No it wouldn't," Harm said in a firm voice. "Knowing what takes place in Vietnam would only make you bitter and angry, and fill you with hate." Harm took his young wife in his arms and added, "I would never want that to happen to you."

Once Harm Junior was home, he never said a word about shooting down the Libyan MiG. He did tell his mother that after having been in combat, he finally felt equal to his father.

Harm's flying career had ended, but Frank felt that his career in law was proving every bit as impressive. After being assigned to JAG Headquarters, Harm received an accelerated promotion to lieutenant commander, and he was handling many of JAG's high profile cases.

Mac also seemed to be on the fast track at JAG. She was a fine attorney, as well as a career Marine officer.

This would create its own set of problems. If the two were to marry, someone's career would have to be put on hold. That meant that a compromise had to be made by one of two people who seldom compromised on anything.

Frank ordered another beer at the bar, along with two shrimp tacos.

As he sipped his cerveza, Frank Burnett wondered what the next few years would hold for Harm and Mac? and if he'd be around long enough to see it unfold?

* * *

After phoning the Admiral, Harm spent some time catching up on his email. Once his inbox was clear, he placed a call to Alice Martin, Arlington National Cemetery Funeral Resources Director.

Upon speaking with Ms. Martin, Harm was surprised to learn that Clayton Webb had been in her office and hand delivered his father's file.

"It's not often that we get a file directly from Mister Webb's agency, but he spoke highly of your father, and of you, Commander."

Harm knew that Webb never did anything without an ulterior motive, but he didn't have the time or inclination to sort it out. He thanked Ms. Martin, and they moved along with a discussion of his father's case.

Their conversation proved a disappointment.

Due to limitations of space, burial at Arlington National Cemetery Arlington was severely restricted. Because there were no physical remains, Harmon Rabb Sr. was not eligible for ground burial. Instead, there would be an inurnment in the Columbarium where an empty urn would be placed in a niche and then sealed with a marble plaque. No keepsakes of any kind could be placed inside the urn or inside the niche itself. The memorial service would have to be held outside and under an awning, and due to air traffic concerns, no fly-over would be possible.

Harm scribbled down half a page of notes, thanked Ms. Martin for her time, and indicated that he would be in contact again.

Harm leaned back at the desk and shook his head. A niche in the Columbarium was no better than his father's name of the Vietnam Memorial Wall- in Harm's mind it was worse.

On the Wall, Harmon Rabb Senior's name was chiseled deep into a slab of solid granite where he was immortalized along with the other men who had fought and died together in the same conflict.

By comparison, inurnment in the Columbarium made his father just another index card in a warehouse.

Harm imagined what Tom Boone would say: "It looks like a god damned post office box."

It was well past lunchtime, and Harm needed to clear his head.

Frank had returned from the doctor and was relaxing in the living room with a martini. "Care to join me?" he asked.

"Not right now." Harm had noticed that Frank was drinking a lot lately, and he knew that he was not sticking to his diet. "How did the doctor's appointment go?"

"It looks as though I'll be around for a while longer. Hell, even with my bum ticker, I've outlived my father. Mustard gas and shrapnel in the First World War couldn't kill him. It was the damned smoking that did it."

"I would have liked to have met your father."

Only hours ago Frank had shared with Mac how he had been a disappointment to his father. It was so easy to talk with Mac, but so hard to do the same with Harm.

"My dad would have liked you Harm. You're his kind of man." Frank drained his glass and poured another Martini. "I like to think that maybe your dad and my dad are somewhere together. And maybe your grandfather too."

"That's a nice thought. Speaking of my dad, I just got off the phone with Arlington National Cemetery." Harm then outlined the limitations on his father's memorial service, and his disappointment.

"Take it with a grain of salt. My father was eligible for burial at Arlington, but he was born and raised in Southern California and didn't want to be buried on the east coast. He wanted to be buried in the Los Angeles National Cemetery, which is not far from our old home in Holmby Hills. You could damn near walk there from his house."

"That's an affluent area," said Harm.

"I suppose so, but it never seemed that way to me. Lloyd Bridges lived down the street from my dad. Lloyd passed away earlier this year. He was a nice man, and a good neighbor."

"My dad grew up on the farm in Pennsylvania, and with no celebrities living near by. I want to give him what he deserves."

"Then you should think long and hard about what your dad would have wanted, and not what you want for him."

"I hadn't considered that."

"I've been down that road, not only with my dad, but with my mom."

"I don't think you've ever mentioned your mother to me," said Harm, who watched as Frank leaned back on the sofa.

"My mom was a beautiful woman. She had blonde hair, creamy white skin and stunning blue eyes, not unlike your mother's eyes. My mom had a cheerful and outgoing personality. She was an odd match for my gruff and always serious father, but they were a happy couple. When my mom was diagnosed with cancer, it had ripped my dad to pieces."

"Could anything be done for her?" asked Harm.

"Cancer treatment was primitive in those days. Radiation therapy was in its infancy, and chemotherapy hadn't been developed. Surgery was the only option, and it failed"

Sheree Burnett's treatment for ovarian cancer had been long, drawn out, and agonizingly painful. The doctors spent months chasing the cancer. After each operation, Sheree would seem to be improving, but the cancer would spread and they'd operate again. Surgeons removal of both Fallopian tubes and ovaries along with the uterus, then they removed of a portion of the small bowel, then the large bowel, and then in quick succession her spleen, gallbladder, most of her stomach along with a portion of the diaphragm, followed by the removal of a portion of the peritoneum and some of her liver.

When Sheree Burnett died, everyone agreed that it was merciful.

"My mother wanted to be cremated with her ashes scattered at sea. This was in early 1945 and wartime restrictions were in place. Burials at sea required using a contractor with a special license from the Coast Guard. Members of the family were not allowed on the boat- I suppose they were afraid we'd signal a Japanese submarine. After a brief dockside service, the boat just sailed away with me left standing on the pier."

"I'm sorry, Frank. I had no idea."

"It's not something that I like to talk about, but I'm glad that I could share it with you." Frank got up from the sofa, went to the bar and washed his glass. "I expect that we'll have a late evening. I'm going to lay down for a while."

"Mac and I are looking forward to spending the evening with you and mom."

Frank smiled. "Sure you are. That's the polite thing to say, and you've always been polite."

Once his stepfather had left, Harm relaxed on the sofa. How could he have been so selfish and thrown away so many good years with Frank? and why had Frank put up with it?

* * *

The drive home from the spa had turned into a question and answer session with Trish asking Mac about her favorite color, and where she liked to go on vacation? Trish then asked if Mac had a preference for a particular style of furniture?

"My own apartment is furnished, so I haven't given it much thought."

"When Big Harm and I were married, Sarah Harmon Rabb gave us the down payment for our first house. Naturally Frank and I will do the same for you and Harm. When it comes time for furniture, I'll be happy to furnish a room or two, in the style of your choosing of course. For a home in the Washington DC area, American Colonial would be perfect. Of course if you and Harm were to relocate to the San Diego area, then I'd suggest-"

Mac had reached her limit.

"Trish, you need to dial back. Harm and I are going to have a talk tomorrow, but I seriously doubt that he's going to propose to me."

"I'm sorry. I swear that I've become Sarah Rabb, and that was never my intention."

"Sarah Rabb was a bit controlling?"

"When Harm proposed, he told me that I'd be the daughter that his mother never had. I assumed that meant she'd be supportive of all my choices, and would offer help when asked for, but otherwise, stay out of our life and marriage."

"It sounds as though it would be ideal."

"Meanwhile, Sarah Rabb had ideas of her own. She assumed that I'd see her as an authority on marriage and children—and her son. Of course I'd want lots of advice from her, and I'd want to be just like her."

"I take it that she had he own way of doing things."

"If I visit your home and start rearranging your kitchen cabinets, you have my permission to punch me."

"It was that bad?"

"After all, any idiot _knows _that the coffee cups should be stored above the coffee pot."

Mac laughed. "My goodness."

"Once Little Harm was born, Sarah couldn't wait to start 'helping'. Big Harm was deployed, so Sarah came out to California to lend a hand. At first I appreciated the help, but our relationship quickly became tense, and with shaky truces being silently negotiated. When Harm came home the situation became worse."

"Sarah didn't return home?"

"Of course not. She loved having Harm in the house. Sarah would arise early and prepare his breakfast to ensure that the eggs were cooked just the way that he liked them. Then she'd and do the laundry, and then the ironing, to 'get the creases in his shirts just right', which implied that I couldn't do either correctly."

"What did Harm Senior do to ease the tension?"

"Nothing. He liked having his mother around. After her husband Warren's death at the Battle of Midway, Sarah focused her entire life on Harm, so he ignored, or was oblivious to, the little digs that passed between his mother and myself. Can you imagine a grown man unable to stand up to his own mother?"

_As a matter of fact, I can._

"After three months of having Sarah Rabb in my house, I reached my breaking point. I announced that I no longer needed help with Little Harm, thanked her profusely for her assistance...and I sent her packing to Pennsylvania."

"Did you two ever mend fences?"

"Certainly. Sarah Harmon Rabb is a master chef and she always keeps a perfect house. I'll never cook at her level or be as well organized, and we're both okay with that." Trish gave Mac a sly smile. "Of course it doesn't hurt that we live more than 3,000 miles apart."

Not quite family, but more than just friends, the mother and daughter-in-law relationship has tension built into it from the start. It's a bond that brings women with different values and upbringings together with the expectation they should agree on what it means to be a wife and mother.

"I suppose that a little distance between a mother in law and a daughter in law can be beneficial to both," said Mac, who could see it all unfolding with her and Harm, except Sarah Harmon Rabb was replaced by Trish.

_There is no way in hell that Harm and I will be living in the same time zone as Harm's mother!_

When they reached the house, Trish pulled the car into the garage and stopped the engine. "I enjoyed our day together, and I'm looking forward to dinner this evening."

"So am I."

"I don't know what is going to happen between you and Harm, but my feelings for you haven't changed since our talk on your first night here. You will always have a place in my family."

"I appreciate that."

_I've also learned a lot in three days. _

"Now let's head in and see what the boys have been up to."

Once inside the house, Trish and Mac found Harm relaxing on the coach. "Hello, Darling," and Trish gave her son a kiss on the cheek. "Where is Frank?"

"He went in to lay down. I suppose that the doctors appointment tired him out. The good news is that he seems to be okay."

"He always says that. I'll go and find out the truth."

When Trish left, Mac sat down next to Harm. "Hello, Darling," she teased, and then gave him a wet kiss. "Do you still like my kisses better mommy's?"

"Of course I do. Your hair looks nice, and you smell like honey."

"That's from the body wrap. It does wonders for the skin."

Harm reached over and ran his hand over Mac's arm. "Mmm. The skin on your arm is soft."

"If you think that's soft, try this." Mac placed Harm's hand on her breast, and then gently cupped his hand around it.

"You're incorrigible."

Mac smirked. "That's for me to know, and for you to find out. So, what mischief were you up to today?"

"I spoke to the Admiral this morning."

Mac nearly came to attention. "How are things going back at JAG?"

"It sounded busy. We are expected back at our desks and ready to work on Monday morning. I suggest that we arrive early. After talking with the Admiral, I spoke with the Funeral Director at Arlington."

"What did you find out about a service for your dad?"

"The news was disappointing. There will be no burial, only an inurnment," and Harm explained the remainder of the details to Mac. "I wanted better for my dad. Now I'm unsure of what to do."

"You're a good son, Harm. You'll make the right decision." Mac stood up. "I need to go in and start prepping for tonight's dinner."

"There are 3 hours before we leave."

"2 hours, 47 minutes and 15 seconds. And I'll need all of it. Don't forget to wear your black suit tonight."

"I remember. I promised you that I would wear that suit."

Mac's demeanor changed. "While you're remembering your promises, remember that you and I are having our talk tomorrow."

"How could I forget?"

"Let me count the ways." Mac spun on her heels, and when she left the living room, Harm groaned and then flopped down on the sofa.

_Rabb, you are really in for it._


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Harm's first two training days were held in a classroom at the Portsmouth Naval Shipyard in Kittery, Maine. The lead instructor had been in the backseat of an F-4 Phantom that was shot down over Hanoi in 1971 and had spent two years as a POW. The instructor explained that since the students were all aviators there was a likelihood that they could fall into the hands of the enemy. Because they were officers, they would be subjected to intense interrogation.

The instructor emphasized that the students needed to pay attention and take Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape (SERE) training seriously. "Never mind flight school. This is the most important training school the Navy will ever send you to," he said.

The crux of the classroom training was an in-depth review of the Code of Conduct, a list of six "articles" created after American POW's suffered at the hands of their captors during the Korean War. The POW's were all tortured in one form or another. Some were brainwashed; a few even refusing to return to the United States after the war.

At the conclusion of the first classroom session, Harm took the instructor aside and told him about his father.

Their conversation would come back to haunt Harm.

After two days in the classroom, the class began a four-hour drive to the Navy's 12,000 acre remote training site in northwestern Maine.

When the trucks stopped the students were greeted by a group of partisans; friendly locals who welcomed them to the Peoples Republic of North America – PRONA. The partisans explained that PRONA was a Soviet satellite and that they were a small band of rebels fighting for their freedom during the Cold War.

The rebels would assist the downed aviators, and they promised to aid in their returning safely to the United States.

Harm found out later that the partisans, like everyone else in the land of PRONA, were actually a combination of local outdoorsmen on retainer, along with DoD personnel on loan to SERE School. The partisans spoke English with thick eastern European accents. They were acting, of course, but it was believable.

The winter of 1987 was bitter cold. No winter clothing was issued to the students who arrived dressed in flight suits and wearing flight jackets- exactly what they'd be wearing if they had punched out of a damaged aircraft. Harm was a big man so he retained heat more easily than the smaller men; some of whom were already suffering in the cold.

The partisans broke the class into groups of 10 and led them into the forest where they gave instruction in the basics of survival. Because they were in occupied territory, no fires were allowed. That night, Harm's group ate a cold meal of canned vegetables and stale crackers, and then huddled together to stay warm.

The temperature fell to 0 degrees Fahrenheit overnight, and by morning snow was falling. Now everyone was cold.

Harm's group was informed that the army of PRONA was in the area and that they needed to break up and attempt to evade individually. Harm spent the balance of the morning hours crouching in the forest and trying to hide (and to keep from freezing to death) from the unseen enemy. At noon, one of the partisans found him (so much for his efforts to hide) and said that the enemy threat was gone and he was to form up with the entire class to be marched to a safe place.

It was a trap- and a lesson in who not to trust while behind the lines during wartime.

Once they had been gathered together, the formation was interrupted by gunshots. The partisans disappeared into the forest and suddenly the class was surrounded by military trucks and personnel in uniform yelling in a foreign language.

Whatever training scenario context remained in the minds of the students evaporated as their captors slapped them around hard, and threw them to the snow covered ground. They were forcibly loaded into the back of the transports and driven along a winding mountain road, repeatedly told during the trip not to look out the back of the trucks or they'd be shot.

When the trucks finally stopped, Harm's group was dragged out and forced to the ground, which was frozen and as hard as concrete. Before being blindfolded, Harm got a quick glance at his surroundings: a prison camp located deep in a forest. Harm was amused that the camp looked somewhat like Stalag 13 from the old Hogan's Heroes TV show.

It would be the last time Harm found anything about the camp amusing.

Harm was roughly lead to a small cell. After sitting in the center of the cold concrete floor, a guard removed his blindfold and provided Harm with his first look at his new home.

The cell was 12X10 feet with bare concrete walls and no window. What light there was came from a 100 watt bulb high up in the ceiling which could not be turned on or off from inside the cell. There was a rolled up piece of foam rubber in one corner of the cell to serve as a mattress, and Harm could guess the purpose of the plastic bucket next to it.

Harm tried to stand, but the guard shoved him back to the deck.

"Stay in position!" the guard yelled in a thick East European accent. Harm was told that he was "War Criminal Number One-Five" and that he should refer to himself as such. Then the guard pointed to a bucket in the corner and explained that it was his toilet and the he was not to use it without permission.

"No shit 'till say so," said the guard.

Harm grinned. "No shit."

The guard slammed the cell door shut and then peered through the small hatch in the door. Seeing that Harm had stood up and was not in position sitting on the floor, he promptly re-entered the cell and roughed Harm up. Harm spent the next hour holding the uncomfortable position on the floor and then standing to stretch, with the understanding that if the guard caught him it meant another beating.

As Harm sat wondering what was going to happen next, a variety of psyops stuff blared through the speaker mounted high in one corner of the small cell. A mind-numbing cacophony of an out-of-control saxophone was followed by Rudyard Kipling reciting his poem "Boots" over and over in a very haunting voice. [A/N No one who attended Navy SERE will forget "Boots."]

Occasional interruptions came through the speaker outlining the camp rules. Those in the cells were informed that they were being held as war criminals and were not prisoners of war.

At some point the guard entered Harm's cell, blindfolded him, and led him to an interview with the Camp Commandant. The Commandant was an older man with snow-white hair, and his friendly demeanor led Harm to believe this was the "soft sell" portion of the interrogation.

The Commandant asked Harm how he was feeling. Harm joked that he was hungry. The Commandant issued an order to the guard who brought Harm a warm MRE of spaghetti with meat sauce, which Harm wolfed down.

The Commandant asked Harm where he was stationed?

Harm replied that he couldn't answer that question.

Harm was asked what kind of aircraft he flew.

Once again, Harm said he couldn't answer.

After a second round of refusals, the Commandant's friendly mood shifted into anger. Saying that Harm was "insincere", he ordered the guard to take Harm to see the provost marshal for further interrogation.

Harm was blindfolded and taken to another part of the camp. Once inside the building, Harm's blindfold was removed and he saw a huge placard which read: "If it were not for the Wall Street Imperialists you would be home with your wife and family."

A guard told Harm to climb into a wooden crate, barely big enough for him to fit inside.

Once Harm had wedged himself in, the guard slammed the lid and locked it. Harm was instructed that when the guard banged on the box with a hammer he was to yell out his war criminal number. This went on for a considerable period of time. Harm didn't suffer from claustrophobia, but the confined space made his limbs go numb, and the noise inside the box from the constant hammering was deafening.

The box treatment was followed by calisthenics for Harm to loosen up, punctuated by guards slapping him around and throwing him to the floor. When Harm had regained the full use of his extremities, a guard led him to a room where a burly man with a huge blond handlebar mustache was waiting.

Mustache spoke with a heavy Slavic accent. He asked Harm a few questions about his military profile, and each time Harm didn't answer he was hit in the face with a sock filled with sand. It was painful, but left no lasting marks on the skin.

Mustache produced an American flag from his desk and threw it on the floor. He then told Harm to dance on it. Harm tried to avoid it but he was pushed and kicked by the guards and ended up stepping on the flag. As he did a photographer appeared and snapped a photograph.

After another round of questions which Harm didn't answer, Mustache decided it was time for stronger measures.

Harm was shoved to the floor and kicked in the stomach. Mustache was a big man and it was a hard kick. Harm vomited up his recently eaten spaghetti. When Harm tried to rise to his feet, Mustache shoved him back onto the floor, forcing Harm's face into his own vomit, and then he sat on Harm's shoulders.

Harm couldn't breathe. He was choking for air. When he managed to turn his head just enough to gulp a breath, Mustache slammed his head onto the concrete floor and the room started spinning.

This was a real beating, but there was no "Red Light" signal to call for a halt.

As he fought to get a breath of air, Harm managed to ask Mustache to stop by offering to tell him something. Harm hoped to employ the technique of bending, but not breaking, by throwing out some meaningless information.

Mustache dragged Harm to a wooden chair and sat him down. Harm's face was smeared with vomit, so Mustache grabbed a bucket of cold water and dumped it over him.

The room wasn't heated and Harm began to shiver.

Harm told Mustache that he was stationed in California, even though he was currently stationed in Virginia; and that he flew turbo-prop transports, even though he flew an F-14 fighter.

Mustache laughed. He told the guard to return Harm to his cell and give him hot food and clean clothes because been very helpful.

It had been too easy. While being led back to the cell block, Harm regretted caving in so quickly.

As soon as Harm stepped into the cell block, the PA announced, "Attention war criminals. Lieutenant Harmon Rabb Junior has cooperated with the Peoples Republic of North America. He will now receive hot food, clean clothes, and be allowed to wash. These rewards will be given to all who join Lieutenant Rabb and cooperate."

A chorus of catcalls erupted from prisoners in the other cells.

"Traitor!"

"Pussy!"

As a Naval Academy graduate, Harm should be acting as a leader, but he had made a serious error in judgement which had cost him the respect of his fellow prisoners.

When Harm reached his cell, a plate of hot food, a set of clean clothes- including a winter coat, and a bucket of hot water with soap and a towel were waiting for him.

Harm didn't touch any of them.

Harm knew that his own father must be enduring far worse abuse, and he vowed to do the same.

The guard returned to the cell and removed the untouched "rewards" which Harm had earned. Harm was then blindfolded and lead back to the Commandant's office.

"You disappoint me, Lieutenant." The Commandant told Harm about a small group of captured enlisted air crewmen who had gone through worse and had refused to talk. Instead they kept screaming "Article Five!" – a reference to the Code of Conduct where it states only giving name, rank, service number, and date of birth.

"You are a graduate of your nation's Naval Academy, but enlisted men with worker's educations were stronger than you," the Commandant chided.

"You claim that we are war criminals and not POWs. Get your story straight," Harm said defiantly.

"You have demonstrated no loyalty to your nation or to your comrades. You wish only to enjoy the privileges of the officer-class. What is more, you remain insincere. We have checked and discovered you told us wrong information. I am sending you back to the provost."

A chill shot through Harm. Something had gone horribly wrong with the training program. The interrogations were real. He couldn't go back there again.

Harm was blindfolded, taken out of the Commandant's office, and hustled across the compound. When his blindfold was removed, Harm found himself seated in the same wooden chair, and face to face with Mustache.

Harm steadied himself. His nation was depending on him to be strong. That's why he'd been educated at Annapolis and put through flight school. He wasn't about to let America down again...or his father.

If he died inside this room, so be it.

"You have provided false information. I ask you once more, and I expect the truth. Where are you stationed?" Mustache demanded.

"I evoke Article Five. Rabb, Harmon D Junior. Lieutenant, Junior Grade, US Navy. 989548301. Born 23 October, 1963."

"Which squadron are you assigned to?"

"Article Five does not require me to answer that question."

"What schools and hospitals have you and your squadron attacked with napalm and white phosphorus?"

"Article Five does not require me to answer that question."

"Which biological weapons have your squadron been trained to use against civilian targets?"

"Again, I evoke Article Five."

Mustache walked over to Harm and kicked the wooden chair out from under him. Once Harm was on the deck, Mustache began kicking him in the stomach, but Harm's stomach was empty so that now he could only retch.

Mustache righted the chair and sat Harm back down. "Give me the information I asked for or you will not leave this room alive."

Harm stared Mustache in the eye. "I am an American naval officer fighting in the forces which guard my country and protect our way of life. I am prepared to give my life in their defense."

"You are the fascist tool of a failed society. Your education came at the expense of workers who struggle to feed themselves while you dine in your ship's wardroom on delicacies." Mustache struck Harm full across the face with the sand filled sock, knocking him out of the chair and onto the floor.

Harm climbed off the floor and sat back down in the chair. "I am an American naval officer fighting in the forces which guard my country and protect our way of life. I am prepared to give my life in their defense."

Mustache struck Harm again, but this time he fought to remain upright in the chair. Harm shook off the blow, and glared at his advisory. "I've seen your sock. Now show me your pantyhose."

"I do have something to show you." Mustache went to his desk and returned with Manila envelope. "The Department of Military Intelligence of the Socialist Republic of Vietnam has provided your missing father's complete file."

"Bullshit!" Harm shouted.

"Your father was shot down after firebombing a children's hospital."

"Wrong. His aircraft was struck by a missile during an Iron Hand mission against a heavily defended SAM site."

"Your father was shot down by a Vietnamese farmer armed with a rifle. Your father is not only a war criminal, he is an incompetent pilot."

"That's a lie! My father was a Blue Angel."

Mustache smiled inwardly. Harm had just given up his single weakness. "After being shot down, your father surrendered to a group of peasant-women while offering no resistance. Your father is a coward."

"Lies. My father has two Air Medals and a Distinguished Flying Cross, all of them with V for Valor."

"Your father is weak. He broke down while under interrogation and confessed to his numerous crimes. He then denounced the United States as a decadent nation run by war profiteers."

"More lies. My father loves his country."

"In return for the forgiveness bestowed on him by the peace loving people of Vietnam, your father provided important technical information on American aircraft to the air force of Vietnam, and to the Peoples Republic of China and the Soviet Union."

"He would never do that!"

"Your father is alive and is still in Vietnam. He has married a Vietnamese woman and has three children by his new wife. He has repeatedly refused reparation. Your father has abandoned America, just as he abandoned you and your mother."

Mustache had expected Harm to break down, but Harm was consumed by the same rage he had felt in Laos when Bian was executed.

"You're a filthy lying piece of shit!" Harm sprang out of the chair and bull-rushed Mustache, driving him across the room until they crashed into the desk. When they fell to the floor, Harm began beating Mustache, who struggled to fight him off.

Three guards rushed into the room, and it took all three to pull Harm off Mustache and then drag him out of the building.

Once he was outside and in the compound, Harm managed to break free and he attacked the same guard who had put him into the wooden box. The other two guards had to use their night sticks to subdue him.

When they reached the cell block, Harm was still cursing and fighting; and he continued to resist until being physically thrown into his cell.

"That guy's fucking nuts," said the guard who had been attacked, only now speaking in perfect English.

The following day, Harm was let out of solitary confinement. By now the other prisoners understood that Harm's "cooperation" had been obtained by trickery. Even so, he remained the Academy man who was too smart of his own good.

Under international law, captured commissioned officers were not required to perform manual labor, but the prisoners had been classified as war criminals and had no such rights. Harm joined in a work detail forced to do hard labor around the camp, including building a helicopter landing pad in the ice-covered ground – an impossible task for which the prisoners were beaten for lack of progress.

During a break for "Reeducation and Enlightenment", the Commandant gathered the prisoners together. Holding a Bible aloft, he told them their beliefs were lies and that the true American house of worshiped was on Wall Street. He threw the Bible down and stomped on it, which caused some of the prisoners to react enough that the guards felt obliged to slap them and throw them to the ground.

The daily cycle of hard labor followed by "education" sessions from PRONA's propaganda machine would grind on. Nights spent in unheated cells and sleeping on thin foam mattresses, followed by hours of toiling with little food and no winter clothing caused even the strongest of the prisoners to weaken. A few men became ill and were removed from the camp. All of the prisoners were taken back to the Provost Marshal for further "interrogation"- all except for Harm.

Apparently Mustache didn't want another session with him.

By the morning of day five, morale in the camp was low. Kept in isolation it was every man for himself, but together in a group the depression was infectious. The prisoners were all junior officers. Most, like Harm, were recently out of flight school, and they were without senior personnel to turn to for guidance.

All memories of a training exercise were forgotten. The prisoners were sure that they were never getting out of the camp and that their lives as they knew them were over.

Harm had his own special means of holding out: _My father has endured nearly two decades of this. I can keep going for as long as it takes._

As he stood in line for breakfast: a bowl of lukewarm turnip soup so tasteless and lacking in food energy that Oliver Twist wouldn't have asked for seconds, Harm heard a burst of gunfire, then a group of men rappelled over the walls of the compound. They used bullhorns announcing that they were US Special Forces, and they took the camp personnel into custody.

When the provost marshal emerged from his building while under guard, a near riot ensued. Several prisoners, including Harm, tried to attack him, and they had to be restrained.

Once order was restored, the flag of PRONA which had hung against the main guard tower was replaced by the Stars and Stripes, and the National Anthem was played over the camp PA.

There wasn't a dry eye among the prisoners as they sang along. They were Americans, and they were free again.

A mobile kitchen was hurriedly setup inside the compound and the men enjoyed their first hot meal in a week.

After the hearty breakfast, the commander of the "Special Forces" detachment came around to shake the prisoners hands. Harm was surprised to see the commander was the lead instructor from Portsmouth.

"You let them get the better of you, Rabb. Divulging information about your father was a serious mistake. You saw how easily it could be passed along and then used against you."

"I thought it was going to be a game. When it became real, I wasn't prepared."

"The game is played for keeps out here. I hope you learned that an Academy education and an officer's uniform is meaningless without the courage and commitment that goes along with them."

The two men chatted for several minutes about Harm Senior; the instructor urging Harm not to give up hope.

"Prisoners can slip through the cracks. There were men taken out of cells in Hanoi, and no one knows what became of them."

Before they parted, the instructor told Harm, "You can stand up to anything. When you get into a tight spot, you won't fail your country, or your father."

* * *

Harm lifted himself off of the living room sofa and headed for the study to clean up before going to dinner. He was convinced that if he could get through five days as a captive of the Peoples Republic of North America, he could survive tomorrows questions from Mac. As for telling her about his plan to return to active flight status, that was now off the table.

* * *

[A/N] Every naval aviator goes through SERE's, and Harmon Rabb would have certainly done so. In the episode "A Tangled Webb', had it been Harm captured and tortured, my guess is that he would have never talked. I want to thank to Lt. Commander Ward C., a former USN flight officer, for his assistance with this chapter.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Remembering back to the week he'd spent at SERE Class, Harm took a "Hollywood" shower: an especially long shower which wasted a considerable amount of water- a sin for a Navy man.

After he'd shaved, Harm put on the same black suit he'd worn to the country club; this time with a gray shirt and black silk tie. Mac had insisted that he wear the black suit this evening and he was not going to risk disappointing her.

After buffing his shoes, Harm went into the living room where Frank was behind the bar and pouring a Scotch.

"How about a little 18 year old Macallan to kick off the evening?"

"None for me, thank you," Harm answered.

"You're not one to pass up a fine single malt."

"I don't want Mac to smell whiskey on my breath while we're in the car. I'll have a cocktail at the restaurant."

"That's considerate of you. Keep it up and you'll make the rest of us men look bad."

When Frank stepped out from behind the bar, Harm saw that he wearing a classic gray business suit; something which had been in style for 100 years and would stay in style for 100 more. Frank Burnett was tall and slender with gray hair made him look distinguished rather than old. Frank appeared every bit the business executive, and Harm could easily picture him inside the Chrysler boardroom.

"How was your nap?" Harm asked.

"I was just dozing off when your mother came in and began quizzing me about my visit to the doctor. She always thinks I'm hiding something from her about my health."

"Are you?" Harm asked point blank.

"Now you're sounding like a lawyer." Frank sat down on the sofa and took a sip of his Scotch. "My health could be better, but I'm not going anywhere anytime soon."

"That's good to hear."

"I could have been dead from Rheumatic fever when I was nine, but Burnett's are survivors. My grandfather came to California at the turn of the century. Back in those days medical knowledge was so poor that if you lived, you got a doctor bill. If you died, you got buried. I keep telling your mother not to worry because I'm still getting a bill."

Harm chuckled. Frank had a dry sense of humor and he didn't mind making a joke at his own expense. "It's lucky that you and mom are able to communicate so openly."

"Your mother does most of the talking, and I do all of the listening. It's worked remarkably well." Frank took another sip of his Scotch and studied his stepson's face. "What's bothering you, Harm?"

"Mac and I are having trouble communicating. I'm on pins and needles when I'm around her. Tomorrow morning we're going to have a serious talk about our relationship and I'm nervous."

"Mac is a tough lady, but your mother is no pushover and I manage to get my point across every now and then."

Harm took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "The problem is that I don't know what point I'm trying to get across."

"When it comes to relationships there's only one thing a woman wants to be assured of. Do you love Mac?"

"I do."

"Have you told her?"

"When we were alone at the gliderport."

"Then you've made your point. All you have to do now is to move forward."

"I wish it was that easy. My relationships with Diane and Annie never progressed this far. I'm sailing into uncharted waters, and at flank speed."

"Have you spoken with your mother? She could offer insight into a woman's mind."

"Mom's solution is for me to propose to Mac- tonight, if possible."

Frank laughed. "A marriage proposal will clear the air in any relationship. Should I call the jeweler so that we can swing by and pick up a ring on the way to the restaurant?"

Harm shook his head. "I can't move that fast. Not even if Mac wanted to."

"When your mother and I were dating she was anxious for the two of us to speed up our own relationship. Your father proposing on their second date was a tough act to follow."

"But the two of you waited."

"We didn't have a choice, what with the Navy, the legal issues, and a plethora of complications."

"Complications? You mean her baggage...me."

Frank looked directly at Harm. "I never once thought of you as being your mother's baggage. When I married Trish, I was excited that in addition to having a beautiful wife, I was gaining a wonderful son."

Harm dropped his head. "I'm sorry, Frank. That was a foolish thing for me to say."

"Water under the bridge, Harm." Frank waved his hand to show that it was forgotten, but it had been painful to hear.

"How did you put up with me?"

"You weren't a problem. You were a straight-A student, never in trouble with the law, and you were always respectful. You still are. I wish that we'd been closer when you were a boy, but after we came home from Vietnam, things improved."

"I still have nightmares about that trip," Harm admitted.

"So do I, but my nightmare is my coming home without you and having to face your mother."

"I'm glad that you were there with me. And I'm glad we're having this conversation."

_These are the father son talks that I missed out on through my own pigheadedness._

"Harm, I don't claim to be an expert in these matters, but you need to show Mac that there is light at the end of your relationship tunnel. If you can't do that, then you're playing her for a fool, and Mac is no fool."

"If I screw this up I'll lose Mac as a friend."

"It's the risk you run when friendship turns to romance."

"I'm comfortable having her as my best friend, and as a sort-of significant other."

"You might be comfortable, but Mac's not going to put up with it for much longer," Frank scolded.

"So this is what the two of you talk about on your morning walks."

Frank finished his Scotch. "Daddy-Daughter privilege, Counselor." Frank had begun to think of Mac as a daughter, despite knowing that he had no control over the events that could bring her into the family.

Frank got up from the sofa and set his empty glass on the bar just as Trish walked into the living room. She was wearing a knee length, deep blue cocktail dress with a sweetheart neckline. The dress was elegant and sophisticated, and it was the perfect match for her heavy diamond tennis bracelet.

"Sweetheart, you are a vision," said Frank.

"You look beautiful, Mom," Harm said. Trish smelled of Chanel No. 5. It was her trademark scent, which Harm recognized from the time he was a small boy.

"Thank you both. I must say that the two of you look quite handsome this evening."

Harm looked at his watch. "What's keeping Mac?"

"I'm sure that she's struggling to get ready in what passes for a bathroom in your old bedroom," said Trish.

"Sink, shower and a toilet. I never had a problem with it," said Harm, who was now using the larger bathroom adjacent to the study.

As if on cue, Mac stepped into the living room. She was wearing a bright red dress with spaghetti straps which hugged her substantial curves, and its plunging neckline left nothing to the imagination.

It was Harm's favorite dress, and he was nearly breathless. "Mac, you look stunning."

"You look quite nice yourself, Harm."

There was no kiss, or any sign of affection. Mac was simply polite, and Harm's mind was racing trying to think of what he'd done now?

"Let's get the show on the road," Frank announced.

"I'm parked in the driveway. Would you like me to drive?" asked Harm.

"No thank you. Tonight we'll be taking the Imperial."

"Oh, dear God," moaned Trish.

Frank looked at Mac. "I'll bet that a youngster like yourself has never ridden a real car. Well, tonight you're in for a treat."

Frank lead the group into the third bay of the three car garage where something enormous sat parked and carefully covered.

"I thought that was a boat," said Mac.

"You're not far off, dear," said Trish.

"Give me a hand with the cover, Harm," and the two men removed the custom fitted cover to reveal a 1967 Chrysler Imperial Crown Coupe. The 2 door hardtop was Persian White with red leather interior, and it looked factory new.

"When the Chrysler Turbine Car project concluded, I decided it was time to step up and enjoy my new VP status. This was my idea of a bosses car," Frank said with pride.

"It certainly is impressive," said Mac.

"She's twenty feet from stem to stern, and two and one-half tons of American steel. Of the Big Three, Chrysler was known as the engineering company. 'Excellence Without Equal,' the Imperial was a better designed car than the Lincoln or the Cadillac."

"Please, Frank, don't get started," Trish pleaded.

"Climb in, Mac." Frank touched a button and the driver's seat automatically slid forward to allow entry to the back seat. In the meantime, Harm had climbed in, and even at 6-4 he had plenty of room in the back seat.

After Trish sat down, Frank cranked the engine, which fired immediately, giving a healthy V-8 rumble through twin exhausts.

"440 cubic inches and 375 horse power. Out on the highway she can pass up anything...except a gas station!"

"That gets funnier every time you tell it," Trish groaned.

"How do you feel back there, Mac?"

"There's more room back here than in the front seat of my own car." Mac pointed to a large knob between the twin rear bucket seats. "What does this dial control?"

"Dual air conditioners. One up front, and a second for the rear. When we drove to the Grand Canyon it was 110 degrees, but Harm was so comfortable in the backseat that he hardly said a word. Isn't that right, Harm?"

"Yes, I was quite comfortable," when in fact Harm had pouted during the entire trip.

"Everyone buckle up." After Frank had expertly backed the big car down the long driveway and out onto the private drive he looked over his shoulder. "Hang on, Mac."

"Frank, please don't," Trish begged

Frank ignored his wife. He dropped the Imperial into drive, floored the accelerator, and left a trail of rubber on the street.

* * *

Traffic on I-5 south going into San Diego was heavy, but Frank piloted the big Chrysler expertly and they reached downtown in good time.

As they cruised along Pacific Highway, Frank gave Mac a quick overview of the area.

"When my father was stationed at Camp Matthews, I'd take the bus and spend the day downtown. It was wartime, so there were lots of sailors and Marines on the streets and they all had pretty girls with them. The restaurant we are going to was a movie theater back then, and admission was a dime."

The La Fontanne Restaurant, with its Florentine-Italianate architectural style, was in located in the Gaslamp District; a 16 square block area downtown, which was adjacent to San Diego Bay. Once an area of urban decay, the Gaslamp had been revitalized to include many fine restaurants, as well as several entertainment and night life venues.

The old theater had been converted into a restaurant in 1970 and had remained popular ever since. With a maximum seating of just 120, it was expensive and exclusive. Frank had brought Trish to La Fontanne on their first dinner date, and she was overwhelmed by the luxurious trappings; hereto unknown to the wife of a junior officer.

When the time came for Frank to propose, he reserved the restaurant's entire terrace. After Trish accepted his proposal, the happy couple stepped back inside and the other patrons applauded.

La Fontanne had been their special place ever since.

Frank eased the big Imperial into the restaurant's parking lot and valets approached immediately.

"Good evening Mr. Burnett," said a lanky young man.

"Good evening, Steve." Frank stepped out and handed over the keys. "Park her in a safe spot tonight."

"Of course, sir."

Mac and Trish were wearing wraps, but the evening air was a bit chilly and both were anxious to get inside.

The moment that Sarah MacKenzie stepped into La Fontanne, she owned the room.

The beautiful brunette who was wearing a red dress and four inch red heels caught the eye of every man in the restaurant, as well as many of the women who envied Mac's incredible figure.

Frank met with the maître d'. Reservations were mandatory weeks in advance, but the restaurant's owner was a member of the La Jolla Country Club, so Frank could call a day or two ahead and be assured of being seated.

Even so, it would be several minutes before Frank's favorite table would be ready. When Frank suggested they wait in the bar, Trish gave a sideways glance.

Mac quickly spoke up. "Please, lets go to the bar and relax before dinner."

The bar was crowded, but the group of four were seated quickly. Frank and Harm each ordered Martini's, while Trish asked for a Gimlet. Mac ordered her usual tonic water with a twist.

Mac didn't mind being with people who were drinking. Seeing others drink didn't make her want to start drinking again. It made her think back to how miserable her life had been when she was drinking.

It was graduation night and Sarah MacKenzie passed the bottle of Jim Beam to Eddie while he raced his car along Quechran Road.

They were on their way to a party and as they approached the intersection with Winterhaven Drive, Eddie drifted across the double yellow line.

The car ran the off the road and bounced over the curb; barely avoiding going into the Yuma Main Irrigation Canal. When the car came to a stop, the pair broke into hysterical laughter.

"A miss is as good as a mile, Sarah." Eddie took a big swing of bourbon and then placed the bottle between his legs.

"Hey, pass it over here." Sarah made a grab for the bottle and Eddie, now distracted, pulled onto the road and directly into the path of a fast moving delivery truck which slammed into the driver's side.

Despite the horrific impact, Sarah never heard a sound. She remembered crawling out of the passenger side door and when she regained her senses, Yuma Fire and Rescue were continuing their efforts to remove Eddie from the car.

The truck driver was giving his statement to a Yuma County Sheriff's deputy when a fire fighter discovered the bottle of bourbon on the floorboard of Eddie's car.

"God damned drunk!" the delivery driver shouted.

Sarah watched as the fire department use the "Jaws Of Life" to remove Eddie from the car. They placed him on a backboard, but no oxygen mask was attached to his face, and no efforts were made to treat him.

Eddie was pronounced dead at the scene.

The pickup truck driver was unfazed. "The truck is totaled, and you know damned well he didn't have insurance. My boss is going to be pissed. "

Sarah was shocked. Eddie, her best friend was dead, but all anyone cared about was who would pay for the damages.

One of the paramedics examined Sarah and pronounced her uninjured, but intoxicated.

The deputy got Sarah on her feet. "I need to see some form of identification." Sarah removed her drivers license from the pocket of her jeans and handed it to the deputy. "There's no law against a passenger being drunk inside a vehicle, but the legal drinking age in the State of Arizona is 21. I'm citing you for ARS 4-244-9. A Minor In Possession of an intoxicating beverage."

"Do I have to go to court?"

"It's a Class 3 misdemeanor. A court appearance is mandatory. Sign here."

Sarah scribbled her name on the citation and the deputy handed Sarah her copy and returned her drivers license. "Your friend has a broken neck. He died instantly, but you're going to live with this for the rest of your life. You are booked and released, Miss MacKenzie."

When Sarah returned home her father flew into a rage. Without Eddie, Sarah had no place to go, so she hid in her bedroom...with a bottle of vodka.

On the day Sarah was due to appear in court, Joe MacKenzie was drunk, so her Uncle Matt appeared with her.

It was the best thing that could have happened.

Sarah faced the judge disheveled, undernourished, and she was still drinking.

Colonel Matthew O'Hara explained that his niece's home life was dysfunctional. Sarah's father was an alcoholic and abusive, and her mother had abandoned her. Sarah not only needed to get out of the house, she needed to get out of Yuma. The judge agreed. He allowed Col. O'Hara to take Sarah to Red Rock Mesa for 90 days to dry out.

Sarah returned to court after three months looking fit and healthy. She was also completely sober.

Sarah assured the judge that under her uncle's strict supervision she had detoxed and turned her life around. She had broken all ties with her father and with Yuma. She had been accepted by the University of Minnesota and would begin classes in the Spring. Until then she would remain in Red Rock with her uncle.

"My Uncle Matt saved my life, Your Honor. I won't let him down."

"I feel that justice has been served, and a fresh start is warranted. But don't let me see you in my courtroom again, Miss MacKenzie," the judge admonished. "Case dismissed."

"Mac, our table is ready," Harm said for what was the second time.

"Are you alright, Sarah?" asked Trish. Everyone had finished their drink, while Mac's glass of tonic water remained untouched.

"I'm sorry. I was lost in thought. It's just so wonderful being here with the three of you."

"It's our pleasure, dear," said Trish.

As they walked to the table, Harm whispered, "Are you all alright?"

"I'm fine," Mac snapped, and Harm backed off.

It was too cold to sit on the terrace, but their table was at a bay window which offered a wonderful view of San Diego Bay.

Frank insisted that Mac take the seat with the best view, and he sat next to her. "This is the best table in the house, Mac," and Frank ordered another martini.

Trish and Harm started their meal with lump crab cakes, while Frank and Mac started with Italian cured meats and cheese. Everyone ordered the wedge salad. For entrees, Harm requested Collezine Rigatoni with Pocini mushrooms and Heirloom Tomatoes, while Trish ordered salmon.

Frank shook his head. "Ordering spawning fish and pasta with fungus in one of the best steak houses in California? It's a crime." He shifted his attention to Mac. "What looks good to you? And be sure it's something on the hoof."

"All of the steaks look good. What do you suggest?"

"Are you hungry?"

"Famished."

_"_Let's split a _Bistecca alla __F__iorentina_, 'beefsteak Florentine style.' It's a 48 ounce seasoned T-bone served very rare, and accompanied by Tuscan beans. I can never get Harm or Trish to share it with me. Hell, the last time Harm ordered a steak it was cut so thin that it only had one side!"

Mac laughed aloud. "It sounds perfect."

"That's my girl." Frank ordered for the two of them, and then requested a bottle of red wine.

Trish turned her head. "Red wine? Sweetheart, Harm and I are having fish and pasta, and Sarah won't be drinking."

"The wine won't go to waste," Frank insisted.

The meal was amazing; one of the finest Mac had eaten.

Frank was jovial, and Trish made a point of keeping the conversation light.

Harm was his usual reserved self.

Just like the country club, Harm didn't feel comfortable here. He would rather be sitting in the "dirty shirt" wardroom of a carrier and swapping lies with the other pilots. Worse still, Mac was giving him the cold shoulder. Not enough that Frank and Trish would notice, but it was clear that she was upset with him.

Trish and Harm passed on desert, but Frank and Mac shared a slice of cheese cake, with Mac eating most of it.

As the ladies collected their wraps, Frank told Harm, "I've had a bit too much to drink. You'd better drive."

"Gladly." Over the years, Harm had driven Frank home more than once.

When they stepped outside the cool sea air was invigorating. "What do you say that we all go dancing?" Frank suggested.

"Sweetheart, Sarah and I are not dressed for dancing," Trish said.

"Then let's take a walk out on the pier."

"It's chilly, and we have no coats."

"Kill joy. Take us home, Harm," and they waited for the valet to bring the car around.

Once everyone had buckled up, Harm pulled the big Imperial out of the parking lot and onto Pacific Highway. Although massive, the Imperial handled surprisingly well, and thanks to its low gearing and the huge V-8, it had considerable power.

Harm raced up the ramp and once he'd merged onto Interstate 5 north and looked over at Mac, who was seated beside him. "Did you have a nice time?"

"I did," she answered in monotone.

After more silence, Harm pointed out the United States Marine Corps Recruit Depot where male "Hollywood Marines" went through boot camp.

"You should keep your eyes on the road," Mac advised, and they didn't exchange another word during the drive.

It was midnight when they arrived home. After Harm parked the Imperial in the garage, a feat not unlike docking a Navy dirigible, he and Mac thanked Frank and Trish for the wonderful evening.

"It was our pleasure. It's well past my bedtime, so I'm afraid I'll have to skip our morning walk," Frank told Mac.

"That's quite alright. I plan to sleep in. Harm and I have a busy day planned for tomorrow...don't we?" There was an edge to Mac's voice.

"Yes, we'll be quite busy."

After saying goodnight to Frank and Trish, Harm and Mac were alone in the hallway.

"What time do we leave in the morning?" Mac asked.

"0930, unless you want to stop for breakfast. There's a great café not far from-"

Mac cut him off. "Listen up, Mister. I'm fed up with your delay tactics. We will eat our breakfast here and then proceed directly to the area designated for our talk. No stopovers, and no more excuses."

There was no goodnight kiss. Mac spun around, walked into the guestroom and shut the door behind her.

Harm went into the study and unfolded to sofa bed. He undressed quickly, turned off the light and then stared into the darkness.

_Rabb, you're screwed._

* * *

[A/N] Mac's timeline is so convoluted that it's obvious that the show's writers failed to prepare a detailed biography of Sarah MacKenzie. I'm left trying to make the pieces of Mac's life fit together, while staying as close to canon as possible. I think I'm making it work, but your mileage may vary. My thanks to csincisfan01 for her advice on dressing Mac and Trish.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Tuesday, 13 October, 1998  
1015 PDT  
University Heights  
San Diego, CA

Aware of the important talk which would be taking place this morning, Trish and Frank had given Harm and Mac plenty of space. Trish left early for the art gallery, while Frank chose to have breakfast at the club before playing golf.

The space wasn't necessary. As they sat across from each other at the kitchen table, Harm and Mac appeared to be a thousand miles apart.

The drive from La Jolla into San Diego was silent. Harm had attempted to point out some of the city's major sights, but Mac made it clear that she wasn't interested.

Harm made the transition from I-805 onto El Cajon Blvd and soon began crossing familiar streets. After traveling a few blocks he turned south onto Oregon Street where a massive water tower was visible from over a mile away. Harm continued driving through residential streets until he pulled up to a neighborhood park which was adjacent to the huge green-painted steel tank laced with iron rivets.

"The park is where we'll have our talk, but this tower is important to me. I've never brought anyone here to see it," Harm explained.

Mac perked up knowing that no one had been here with Harm, and they exited the car for a closer look.

University Heights was inland from San Diego Bay, so the weather was comfortably warm. Harm was in Chinos and a sports shirt while Mac was dressed in jeans and a tight sweater and wearing mid-calf brown leather boots. The men working in the nearby utility yard soon took notice of the beautiful brunette and their work slowed to a crawl.

"The tower quite a landmark," Mac observed.

"The North Water Tower has been a part of East San Diego for as long as I can remember," Harm began. "I could see the tower from our old house, and as a little boy I imagined what it would be like to climb to the top and be standing above everyone and everything. I'd be King of San Diego."

"Pardon me, Your Majesty, but did you ever climb it?"

"I mentioned it to Tom Boone, and one night we stopped here on our way back from Miramar. Back then there wasn't a lock on the gate, so we walked into the utility yard and started climbing the tower. It was a clear night, so when we reached the top we could see Mission Bay, NAS San Diego, and all the way down to National City."

"It sounds nice."

"It was, until someone spotted us. The police were waiting when we climbed down."

"Busted! What happened?"

"We caught a break. One of the officers had been Master at Arms on USS _Constellation_, so Tom managed to talk his way out of trouble. My dad being MIA didn't hurt our cause."

"Thank god for professional courtesy. It saved Tom from paying a fine."

"Tom didn't care about a fine. He was afraid that the police would impound his '69 Chevy Chevelle and get the premium vinyl seats dirty. Worse still, without a car he'd have to call my mother to pick us up and then explain to her what we'd been up to."

"Was there ever a time when Captain Boone wasn't getting into trouble?"

"He and Bill Ross were always up to something. My old elementary school isn't far from here, and when Tom and Bill were stationed at Miramar they'd sometimes fly over the school during my morning recess."

"That's well out of policy."

"They got away with it until one morning they flew low enough that Principal Morton was able to read their MODEX numbers. Those are visual identification tail codes used to identify the aircraft's organization, and the specific aviators. Principal Morton made the SecNav seem like Bud Roberts, so Tom and Bill got into all kinds of trouble, not only with Base Operations, but with the San Diego Unified School District. Tom claimed the SDUSD wanted to give him ten years of detention."

Once again, Mac found it hard to picture the_ Seahawk's_ two most senior officers as being mischievous young aviators. "It sounds as though you spent a lot of time with Captain Boone."

"My being with Tom was as close as I could get to being with my dad. I think it cut both ways. Sometimes Tom would say things to me like 'Harm, do you remember when we went shopping in Hong Kong?' Then he would realize that he was talking to me and not to my dad."

"Did you feel the same way about Josh Pendry?"

Harm tried to duck the question. "I don't follow you."

"Like hell you don't." Mac asked point blank, "Did you love Annie? or were you using her son as a substitute for your friend Luke?"

Harm was unwilling to admit to either. "When Josh grows up he wants to become an aviator. It's the same dream that I had at his age, and I achieved half of it: I became an aviator, I didn't necessarily grow up."

Mac was in no mood for humor. "You had Tom Boone supporting you, so you felt obligated to do the same for Josh."

"Yes, but by supporting Josh, I was supporting everything that Annie adamantly opposes. She doesn't want Josh to fly. That's one of the reasons our relationship ended."

It wasn't the perfect answer, but because it confirmed to Mac that Annie Pendry was out of the way, she could live with it.

_Annie may be a neurotic mess, but keeping Josh away from airplanes shows that she at least has common sense._

"And Captain Boone's relationship with your mother?" Mac asked.

"I can't speak for them."

"Then speak for yourself."

"I liked having Tom visit the house. My mom would serve dinner, and then Tom and I would sit at the kitchen table and talk about flying. Tom would tell me stories about my dad, and what a great pilot he was. Honestly, most of what I know about my dad came from Tom, and from my grandmother."

"Your mother didn't talk about your father?"

"Not often. After the POWs returned from Vietnam, hardly at all. By then she had steeled herself to the idea that he'd never be coming home." Harm spoke softly. "She was right about that."

"Then you wouldn't have objected to your mother and Tom Boone having a serious relationship?"

"I didn't want my mother involved with anyone. I expected my dad to come home."

"Your grandmother never remarried, so you expected the same from your mom?"

"Sarah Harmon Rabb makes her own way in life. No one in their right mind is going to second guess Grams. As for my mother and Tom, after my mom became engaged to Frank, I didn't see Tom again until I graduated from flight school."

"So, you automatically resented Frank for pushing Tom Boone out of your life."

"My mother would have never married another aviator. As long as Tom kept flying, their relationship could have never been more than platonic. If Tom had imagined it could be more, he was mistaken. It had nothing to do with Frank."

"But you still resented your new stepfather."

"In my heart I knew that my father wasn't dead, so yes, I felt that my mother had abandoned my father."

"So, you took it out on Frank."

"I did, and I'm ashamed of myself. I behaved like a selfish little boy who had his mother's undivided attention and who didn't want to share it with anyone else. My punishment was throwing away a lot of good years with the man who my mother loves, and who has always stood by me ready to help in any way that he could."

"But Frank put up with you."

"He did. Now I'm doing my best to mend fences between the two of us."

"And?"

"It's working. Frank and I are now like-"

"Like father and son?" Mac interjected.

"I suppose you could say that," but Harm couldn't bring himself to say it.

"Don't you feel better for getting this off your chest?" Mac asked.

"No. Discussing it with you makes me uncomfortable, which seems to provide you with a strange sense of satisfaction."

"If this conversation made you uncomfortable, you had better suck it up, because we're just getting started."

* * *

As the pair moved through the park, Harm pointed out the playground where his mother would take him as a small boy, and then the ball field where he began playing Little League baseball.

"My mother came to watch every one of my games," Harm said proudly.

There were numerous large trees scattered around the grounds, and Harm found a spot which had a bench and offered a bit of privacy.

Before sitting down, Harm asked Mac if she'd like to go for coffee?

"You're dreaming if you think you'll weasel away now. Sit your ass down."

The silence was deafening.

Mac couldn't stand another minute and spoke up. "Since you've conveniently lost the power of speech, I'll cut to the chase. I'm not the kind of woman who does casual dating. We start with a committed relationship, which must be monogamous."

_Mister, I'm going to have you on a short leash_.

"I'm not interested in seeing anyone else." Harm had to admit that Mac was being logical and pragmatic; coming from a place of strength and reason, as opposed to a crumbling emotional mess- like Annie.

Mac stated plainly, "Our relationship must be out in the open, and without skulking around and trying to snatch a night or two alone." She had gone through that with Col. John Farrow and would not do it again.

"I fully respect your feelings."

"Save the respect for the next time we square off in the courtroom. Your father proposed to Trish on their second date, and they were married five days later. That won't work for me. I'll want a formal engagement, with announcements."

Harm was caught off guard by Mac already planning an engagement. "We're getting ahead of ourselves. (_My being restored to active flight status could change everything). _I have a few reservations."

Mac's tone was clipped. "List them."

"Your jealousy for a start. It's out of hand, and completely unfounded."

"Unfounded my ass. Everywhere we go I see women hitting on you. Stewardesses, girls working at rental car agencies, waitresses, shop assistants. The list is endless."

"I don't do anything to encourage them. The most I do is smile."

"The smile is what encourages them, and you damned well know it." As far as Sarah MacKenzie was concerned, once they were in a relationship, Harmon Rabb's smile, and all of his other physical attributes would belong to her.

"I'll make it a point to frown more often," Harm joked.

"Don't be a smart ass. Let's not forget female officers. While we were in Arizona, Commander Coulter was coming on to you like a bitch in heat."

"There's nothing going on between Teresa Coulter and myself. Our relationship is strictly professional," although Harm remembered that the Commander stated that she found him attractive.

"Don't think that I haven't noticed the way that Carolyn Imes looks at you."

"Carolyn's justifiable homicide defense was going to land me in prison for twenty years. She's not on my social calendar."

"There was also Lieutenant Schiparelli."

Harm groaned. "For the last time, when you saw us in the car, Tina and I had just hustled a couple of Marines in a pool game. It's not like you haven't done the same thing at the shooting range in Tysons Corners. You've won so many side bets that Admiral Chegwidden is the only person at the office who'll go shooting with you."

"That insubordinate little tramp had her tongue down your throat, Harm. I'm not French kissing the Admiral at the range."

"What I'm trying to say is that you should be impulsive every now and then."

"Like firing an MP5 in the courtroom? That stunt is going to do wonders for your career."

"Never mind me. It wouldn't hurt you to go out and have some fun."

"I like to have fun," Mac fired back.

"Your idea of fun is a morning run followed by a workout at the gym. On the way home you'll pound down a double Beltway Burger and then pick up your Beretta at the apartment. After an afternoon spent at the shooting range, you come home, clean your M9, take a bath, and then curl up with a book- something on the Commandant's recommended reading list, or the newest issue of Leatherneck Magazine."

Mac glared at Harm. "Is that what you really think? that I'm just some Marine automaton."

"Of course not." Harm reached for Mac's hand, but she slapped it away.

"Don't touch me," she snarled. "It makes it worse when you touch me, because I know it's meaningless to you."

"Nothing couldn't be further from the truth."

"Then prove it."

"What do you expect me to do? Rip off your clothes and take you here on the bench?"

Mac stood up and unbuckled her belt.

Harm looked nervously from side to side. "Sit back down. I can't talk to you when you're like this."

"You mean when I'm expressing my feelings? We can't all be the always unflappable Harmon Rabb. Some of us show emotion, but as an Academy man, you wouldn't want to be anything other than an officer and a gentleman."

_Go ahead, Harm. Yell at me, scream at me. Tell me that I'm a horrible demanding bitch and that you can't stand to be around me. For god sake, just tell me something._

"Does it bother you that I went to the Academy? I don't care that you were ROTC. Lot's of fine officers were commissioned from college. Tom Boone-"

"Stop talking about Tom Boone. You know damned well it's because you were at the Academy with Diane, and because you brought her home."

"I've told you before that I brought lots of friends home."

"Don't play games with me, Harm. When you look at me, do you see Diane?"

"Of course not. You and Diane look a lot alike, but that's where it ends. The two of you have totally different personalities."

"So, that's why you're telling me to become more impulsive. Your plan is to turn me into her!"

"That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard you say."

"But you didn't deny it!"

"No, Mac, I don't plan to turn you into Diane. Why do you always have to make a big production out of everything?"

"Because sooner or later, everything to do with you becomes a big production."

"Then don't forget that you are the one who insists on involving yourself in my personal life."

"I wanted to visit with your family and make an effort to get to know them and make a good impression. I wanted to know all about your passions and hobbies and try to connect to those areas of your life as much as possible. Even going flying with you in Sarah, and you know I don't like to fly. I'm interested in your thoughts, ambitions, opinions, and the things you say."

"You've gone far beyond that. You had to come along to Norfolk when I confronted Commander Hobarth about Diane's murder, you insisted on accompanying me to Russia, and you invited yourself here to San Diego."

It was true, but Mac didn't want to hear it. Harm's no-nonsense approach might be useful in the workplace, but it was hurtful when he didn't empathize, or became impatient by Mac being upset over something.

Marines don't defend, they attack.

"My coming here was a mistake. I'm flying home tomorrow. Once I'm gone you can bring another woman home to meet mommy...Darling. Do you know how twisted it sounds for a mother to call her grown son darling? It's no wonder that none of your girlfriends were good enough for Trish. She'll never share her little boy with another woman."

Harm scowled. "You are way out of line. Say whatever you want to about me, but don't take it out on my mother because she loves me and your own mother walked out on you."

Mac shook her head slowly back and forth. "I deserved that."

"Mac, every relationship faces its share of obstacles, but I didn't expect my mother to be one of them. It's true that she has a strong maternal drive, but not only towards me. My mother is protective towards anyone who she feels needs parental guidance."

Mac nodded in agreement. "That certainly includes me. You may not believe it, but this is the first time in my life that I've been treated like a daughter."

"I think I understand." Harm knew that Mac's home life while growing up had been miserable, while his own had been safe and secure.

"At first I enjoyed being the focus of Trish's attention. But now I feel uncomfortable around her. Besides that, my every waking moment is being spent with her or with Frank," Mac admitted.

"They're pressuring you about our relationship."

"Frank isn't bad, but Trish is over the top. When we were leaving the spa I had to tell her to back off. I didn't want to, but she left me no choice."

"Unfortunately my mom can come on a bit strong, but she likes you, Mac. My mom sees all of the wonderful things in you that I see every day when we're together."

Harm gave Mac his flyboy smile, and Mac rolled her eyes.

_Fight it off, MacKenzie. Score some points before your inevitable surrender._

"I thought that my making this trip would clear the logjam we call our relationship. But now I wonder if it is even possible? Other than our visit to the gliderport we've hardly had any time alone," Mac said.

"I may have the remedy. I've booked us into an ocean front suite at the Hotel Del Coronado for tomorrow and Thursday nights."

"You booked the room ahead of our talk? You're quite confident, Commander."

"More like guardedly optimistic, Major."

Mac gave Harm a quizzical look. "How many bedrooms are in that suite?"

"One bedroom," Harm deadpanned.

"I know you too well. How many beds are there in that one bedroom?"

"One king size bed...with a sofa bed in the living room. Just in case I've misread your intentions."

Mac moved close Harm. "You read me loud and clear, Sailor."

Harm put his arm around Mac's shoulder and pulled her tight. "In that case, we'll tackle that logjam while alone in our room tomorrow night."

"Remember, Counselor, an innocent statement can result in a legal obligation. I consider that a binding contract."

"Then let's seal our contract with a kiss."

When Harm kissed Mac firmly on the lips, two homeless men who were seated across the park applauded.

"It's about damned time!" one of them shouted.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

The mood in the car was upbeat. Harm and Mac were excited about their new relationship, as well as the idea of consummating it at the Hotel Del Coronado.

Even so, as the drove away from the park, both were hiding significant details of their lives from each other. Harm planned to return to active flight status, while Mac had a serious skeleton in her closet. Although that skeleton hadn't rattled in over a decade, Sarah MacKenzie knew that the matter would have to be dealt with sooner rather than later.

It was well past noon, and Harm reminded Mac that she had promised to buy him lunch.

"Lunch was conditional on your a good boy."

"I believe I was."

"You've been well behaved today, relatively speaking. Let's go and eat."

When Harm pulled into the parking lot of a vegan cafe, Mac regretted making good on her promise.

"I'd like it if you could open your mind to at least trying some new things," Harm asked. "This is cafe supposed to have some of the best vegan food in San Diego."

"A piece of celery tastes the same no matter where you eat it."

The cafe was owned by an Indian family, and Harm gave the traditional Añjali Mudrā. Most of the customers were Asian, including a few from Northern Thailand. By making using his basic Thai language skills, Harm quickly made friends.

"See how easy it is when you open up to people," Harm told Mac.

Sarah MacKenzie was not sociable by nature. She had few friends in high school, fewer in college, and none outside of the workplace. Mac's personal life was very close to the way Harm had described it in the park, which was why it had made her angry.

Harm began with a glass of Chaas, a salted yogurt drink, followed by Kadhi Chawal; a yogurt curry with rice and served with spinach fritters. Harm's dessert was Rasgulla: ball shaped dumplings of cottage cheese sweetened with honey.

Mac made do with a simple side salad and tea.

"You're not eating much," said Harm.

"I'm not very hungry."

_Once we get home, Frank and I are going __out __and __find_ _the biggest __bacon cheese__burger in La Jolla._

The food had been prepared fresh, and was excellent quality. "Lunch was really good. Thank you," said Harm.

"Don't mention it...ever."

"I'd like to make one more stop before we go home, if you don't mind,"

"Fine by me," and Mac paid the bill.

* * *

Harm parked the Chrysler in front of a classic southern California two bedroom bungalow, complete with a white picket fence out front.

"This is the house I grew up in."

Mac thought it was a cute little house. It had a good sized yard with a small flower garden- obviously well tended, as well as a patio with three chairs. The neighborhood was nice, and compared to the tiny two-bedroom apartment in the rundown area of Yuma where she had lived with her parents, it was a palace.

"I like the color."

"Yellow is my mother's favorite color. After they moved in, my dad and Tom spent an entire weekend painting the exterior. It was a scorching hot weekend, and by Sunday afternoon they'd drank so much beer that after they'd finished painting our house, they started painting the next door neighbor's house. Old man Thompson wasn't thrilled."

"He didn't like yellow?"

"Not on his window glass."

"Let's get a closer look," Mac suggested.

"We can't just walk up to the house," Harm insisted.

"It will be fun. After all, you said that I need to have more fun, and to be more impulsive."

A pretty blond woman in her mid 20's was sitting on the front porch and watching while a young boy about age 6 played in the front yard. When Mac and Harm approached, the boy ran to the front gate. He wasn't tall enough to look over the top, so he peered through the slats while his mother walked over to greet the pair.

"May I help you?"

"Good afternoon. I'm Harmon Rabb, and this is Sarah MacKenzie. This might sound odd, but I grew up in this house."

"I'm Pat Adams. It's nice to meet both of you. Would you like to come in?"

"We don't want to impose."

"Please come in," and Pat opened the gate.

"My name is Tyler. What's your name?" the little boy asked Harm.

"I'm Harm. It's nice to meet you, Tyler. This is my friend, Sarah."

"Hi Sarah. You're pretty."

"Thank you, Tyler. That's a nice name for a boy," Mac said.

"My daddy's name is Tyler," the boy said proudly. "He's in the Navy. Are you in the Navy?"

"No, I'm in the Marine Corps, but Harm is in the Navy."

Pat spoke up. "My mother in law's maiden name is Tyler. That's where the name came from."

Mac gave a sideways glance. "I don't suppose your mother in law lives on a farm in Pennsylvania?"

"No. She lives in a retirement community in Orange County. Why do you ask?"

"Just curious."

"Why don't you both have a seat on the porch. Can I get you something to drink? Perhaps a glass of iced tea?"

"No thank you. We just finished having lunch," said Harm, who noticed that Tyler had lost interest in the visitors and was back to playing with his toys in the front yard. "Tyler is a good looking boy."

"He's a handful, but all boys are at his age. Do you two have children?" Pat asked.

Before Harm could say a word, Mac spoke up. "We're working on it. Aren't we, Darling?"

"I suppose so," Harm said in a nervous voice.

"How long did you live here, Harm?" Pat asked.

"From 1963 until 1974. I was born in the Balboa Naval Hospital, so this is my first home. I have a lot of memories of this house. When my mother remarried, we moved to La Jolla with my stepfather."

"What happened to your father?"

"He was a naval aviator who was shot down over North Vietnam in December 1969. It's hard to believe that I haven't been back here since 1974, but I've been showing Sarah around my old neighborhood and wanted to stop by.

"I'm glad that you did. We also have a Vietnam connection. My father in law, served in Vietnam. He was an aviation boatswain's mate aboard the _USS Kearsarge _in 1964."

Harm's eyes went wide. "My dad's first combat deployment was in 1964 aboard the _Kearsarge_."

"My father in law was a 'Hookup Man' on the catapult. His name was Brent Adams. He died from lung cancer last year.""

"I'm sorry. I know it's a long shot, but I'll ask my mother if she remembers my dad mentioning him."

"Big Ty, that's my husband, would certainly be interested. He's an operations specialist on the _USS Ticonderoga, _a guided missile cruiser."

Bells and whistles began blaring inside Mac's head. A pretty blond wife named Pat with husband in the navy, their 6-year-old son who is named after his father and his grandmother...and now the names of the two ships.

It could all be a coincidence, but Mac didn't believe in them.

"Harm, we need to shove off," Mac said.

"Wouldn't you like to come inside and take a look around?" asked Pat. "I'd like to hear what the house used to look like."

"I'm sorry, but we have an important appointment," Mac insisted.

"Let me give you our email address," and Pat went inside to get a pad and paper.

Harm was confused. "What's going on? You wanted to come here, and now you're in a rush to leave."

"Don't you see it?"

"See what?"

Before Mac could answer, Pat returned to the porch. "You obviously know the street address, but here is our email and our phone number."

"Thank you." Harm removed a business card from his wallet. "This is my email along with my office number, and my cell phone number."

Pat looked at the card. "I didn't know that you were in the JAG Corps." She turned to Mac. "Are you also a lawyer, Sarah?"

"Yes, I am. Harm, we really need to get moving."

"My husband always says to never argue with a Marine."

"Sage advice," replied Harm, who followed Mac to the gate.

"Goodbye, Harm," said Tyler.

"Goodbye, Ty. Keep an eye on your mom while your dad is away. He's counting on you."

"Aye aye, sir. Goodbye, Sarah." Ty smiled at Mac, but she couldn't bear to look at him.

As soon as they got into the car, Mac felt ill. She sensed that something horrible was going to happen to another navy wife and her young son.

"I'm going to be sick," Mac announced.

Harm pulled away from the curb and drove into an alley, and then he held onto Mac's belt as she leaned out of the car door.

* * *

Once Mac was back inside the car, Harm passed her a bottle of water to rinse her mouth.

"I suppose the fresh vegetables you ate at lunch didn't agree with all of the animal protein you've been pounding down for the past few days."

Harm stopped at a local market and bought a bottle of sparking water to settle Mac's stomach, and she reclined the front seat and tried to rest.

When they returned home, Trish and Frank were in the living room, with Frank enjoying a cocktail.

"Can I get either of you something to eat?" asked Trish

"We've had our lunch," said Harm. "Mac isn't feeling well. She was sick in the car."

Trish immediately switched into 'mother mode'. "You poor dear." She touched Mac's forehead with the back of her hand. "You seem a bit warm. You may have a slight fever."

Frank spoke up. "Trish, Mac just has an upset stomach. Leave her alone."

"Just because nothing can survive all of the gin you guzzle, it doesn't mean that the rest of us can't get sick," said Trish.

"I'm fine. I just want to go in and lay down," Mac explained to Trish.

"You need to be careful not to get a chill. Frank, it is far too cold inside the house. I want you to turn up the heat. In the meantime there are extra blankets in the hall closet. I'll put one on the bed in the guestroom."

"No, please don't do anything," Mac pleaded, and then fled the room.

"The poor girl is clearly ill," and Trish got up to follow Mac.

"Mom. Sit down." Harm's voice was dripping with authority, which caught Trish by surprise.

"I'm only trying to help."

"But you're not helping. What you're doing is smothering Mac, and it's stressing her."

"Frank, I need a moment alone with my son," Trish said in a stern voice.

Whenever Trish called Harm 'her son', Frank knew that he was expected to leave the room and he got to his feet.

"Stay here, Frank. This concerns both of you," Harm insisted.

Frank took a seat on the couch and waited for Harm to lower the boom.

Harm spoke deliberately. "Mac and I had a serious talk about our relationship this morning. It got a bit ugly, but we came away closer than we've ever been before. Mac and I didn't pull any punches, so I'm not pulling them with either of you. There will be no more pressure directed at Mac. It's not fair to her."

"Guilty as charged," said Frank.

"I am by far the worst offender," Trish admitted.

"Never mind the blame game. Our new relationship means that Mac and I need to get out of the house and spend some quality time together. We will be staying at the Hotel Del Coronado tomorrow and Thursday."

"That sounds wonderful," said Trish.

"An excellent choice of resorts," Frank added.

With the details of his relationship with Mac out of the way, Harm began describing their visit to the water tower and the old house.

"That water tower is an eyesore. I'm surprised the city hasn't torn it down for scrap," said Frank, who excused himself and went into his office.

Trish looked at Harm. "Don't mind, Frank. He's still a bit sensitive about our old life. So, is the house still yellow?"

"Yellow with white trim, just the way we left it in 1974."

Trish smiled. "That was such a nice little house. Your father and Tom got so drunk that weekend that it's a miracle they finished painting it. It took a gallon of turpentine for them to remove the yellow paint from Mr. Thompson's windows. He never was very friendly after that."

Harm described the young woman living there now with her six year old son, and then asked about her father in law, Brent Adams.

"I can't say that the name sounds familiar. Of course your father served with so many men it's hard for me to remember most of them. You might ask Tom. The _Seahawk _is due back at Norfolk at the end of the week."

"How would you know that?"

"Vicki Ross keeps me updated on the ship's movements. Tom and Bill are friends, and deep down I'm still a Navy wife."

"In that case, do you think that dad would have gone on to become the skipper of the _Seahawk_?"

"Your father was an Academy man, and an Unrestricted Line Officer. He was destined for command. He'd be captain of one of our carriers, with Bill as his XO, and Tom as the CAG. When the three of them were junior officers, that was the way they'd envisioned it."

"As the captain, dad would no longer be flying."

Trish's voice was soft. "Maybe it's the way that I envisioned it."

Mother and son sat together and chatted about the old house, Harm's Little League games, and his elementary school. The more they talked, the more Harm realized how little his father was involved in his life. Even before he was shot down, Harm Senior was either deployed, or flying with the Blue Angels.

"Do you and Frank have plans for this evening?" Harm asked.

"Chet and Clarice Dawson returned from Italy last night and invited us over. I was hoping that you and Sarah would join us, but it appears she won't be up to it."

"I have some paperwork to catch up on before we go to Coronado, so I'll be staying in tonight."

"I'm sure that you and Sarah will have a wonderful time in Coronado. Your father and I always intended to stay at the Hotel Del, but e never did." Trish had a far off look in her eyes and then she snapped back to reality. "Be sure to check on Sarah. And please offer my apology. I'd do it myself, but I've upset her enough for one evening."

"Mac is overwhelmed by all of the attention you shower onto her."

"When I think of all that poor girl has been through...in any case, I'm glad that the two of you have cleared the air. I honestly feel that you and Sarah are meant for each other"

"I just hope that we can be as happy together as you and Frank."

* * *

It was 2100 hours when Mac heard a knock on the guestroom door. "It's Harm. Can I come in?"

"Sure," answered Mac, who had changed into her flannel nightgown and was laying in bed.

"I brought you some chamomile tea and dry toast." Harm set the tray on the nightstand. "How do you feel?"

"My stomach is still upset, but I'll be fine in the morning. Right now I should apologize to Trish for being so rude."

"Never mind that," Harm said gently. "Our next door neighbors came home from Lake Como yesterday, so my mom and Frank are visiting with them."

"Don't let me keep you from visiting with your friends."

"The Dawson's spend every Summer in Italy, and they come home every Fall to tell us about it. I'd much rather be here with you. Now lay back and rest while I pour your tea."

After the first few sips, Mac felt a pleasant warmness spreading through her body, and her stomach began feeling better.

"How about trying a piece of dry toast?" Harm asked.

"No, I'm doing fine with the tea. Will you join me?"

"Certainly." Harm poured a cup of tea for himself and then sat down on the edge of the bed.

"That's not what I meant." Mac pulled aside the covers and then patted the space next to her.

With a reaction time that only a fighter pilot would have, Harm closed the guestroom door and then removed his pants and his shirt, leaving just his white boxers and undershirt.

Mac pulled the blanket over them and Harm pulled her close against him.

Harm began running his hands along Mac's body. "You're so soft," he whispered in her ear.

"And you're so hard," Mac observed. "I'm sorry, but I don't feel well tonight. Right now I just want you next to me"

"It's alright. We've got nothing but time," and Harm gently stroked Mac's hair while he laid next to her.

Mac rolled over and looked at Harm. Her huge brown eyes were sad. "Everyone in my life has left me. I'm all alone, just like you said I was."

"That was a cruel joke. I'm ashamed I said it."

"Promise me that you won't leave me."

Harm took Mac into his arms. "I'm here for you, Mac. And I always will be."

As soon as he said the words, Harm felt guilty. If he returned to active flight status he would not be able to honor his promise.

"Turn out the light, and hold me," Mac said.

Harm reached over and switched off the light on the nightstand, plunging the room into darkness.

* * *

[A/N] Although we are aware of Chris Rangle, the existence of Mac's husband was unknown at the time these events take place. My thanks to all who continue to follow this story.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Mac opened her eyes and automatically reached across the bed. This time her hand came to rest on Harm, who was sleeping quietly next to her. Mac slid next to him and ran her hand over his well muscled arm; the same arm which had held her so tightly last night.

How long had it been since she'd been held like that? Not since Colonel John Farrow back on Okinawa.

_Okinawa. What a mistake that was._

They had both risked serious damage to their careers, and having to hide their relationship made it seem tawdry. Worse still, it had made Mac feel as though she was the tramp that her father had long accused her of being.

Mac slipped her hand beneath Harm's undershirt and began running her fingers through the hair on his chest, stirring Harm from his slumber. "Hey, sleepyhead. Weren't you were supposed to go back to your own room?"

"I guess I didn't make it," Harm answered while still half-asleep.

"What will mommy think when she's sees your bed hasn't been slept in?"

"She'll probably cheer. Why are you awake this early?"

"I'm feeling better, so I want to go for my morning walk with Frank. Why don't you join us?"

"It's still dark outside," Harm groaned.

"I have it on good authority that the sun will rise."

"Which is when normal people get out of bed."

"Suit yourself." Mac grabbed a set of warmups and went in to use the head. When she returned, Harm was still in bed. "What time do we leave for Coronado?"

"1300. That should give you plenty of time to pack."

"Please, Harm, let's eat our meals at the hotel and not at exclusive downtown restaurants."

"I'm fine with that." La Fontanne was his parents favorite, not his own.

Mac bent down next to Harm, rubbed her cheek against his and then wrinkled her nose. "You need a shave. I'll be back home no later than 0930," and she gave Harm a firm kiss on the lips.

When Mac left the room, Harm reached for her pillow, which smelled just like her hair. He put the pillow against his face and promptly fell back to sleep.

Frank was already in the kitchen and brewing a pot of coffee. "How are you feeling this morning?" he asked Mac.

"I'm fine. It was just an upset stomach. Right now I'd love a cup of hot coffee."

"Coming right up." Frank poured two cups of black coffee and sat down at the kitchen table.

Mac looked over the top of her cup. "I want to apologize for my being so rude yesterday evening."

"Don't give it a second thought. You weren't feeling well, and Trish wants to mother every person who so much as sneezes."

"Even so, I behaved badly."

Sarah MacKenzie could do no wrong in Frank Burnett's eyes.

"Trish and I owe you an apology for our being overbearing. After all, you came here to offer our family support during a difficult time."

"Before this visit, I've never experienced being part of a real family. There's a lot about it that I still don't understand, but it means a lot that you've accepted me."

"Of course we've accepted you, Mac. We want you in our family, but if we step out of line again, let us know about it."

"Frank, you and I and Trish all want the same thing. If I could snap my fingers I'd make everything turn out the way that the three of us want it to. Unfortunately, I don't have that power."

"We understand that. Do you feel up for a morning walk?"

"I'm looking forward to it."

"That's my girl," and Frank finished his coffee.

* * *

The sun was just peeking over the horizon when Tom Boone pulled off the freeway and onto El Cajon Blvd.

"Hey Buddy, how about some breakfast?" Boone asked Harmon Rabb Jr., who was resting against the passenger side door of Boone's new Chevrolet Chevelle.

"Sure. I'm hungry," the boy answered, and Boone pulled into the parking lot of the Alpine Café.

It was Sunday morning and the café was crowded. Boone was in uniform and wearing his G-1 flight jacket which sported a variety of patches. As Boone and Harm took a seat and waited for an open booth, they attracted the attention of the older couple next to them.

"Where are you headed this morning?" the gentleman asked.

"We're on our way to an air show in El Centro. I'm taking this little guy to see his father fly," Boone replied.

"My daddy's a Blue Angel," Little Harm said proudly.

"The Blues have completed their season and his dad is leaving the team to return to the fleet," said Boone.

"I thought that the Blue Angels were professional stunt pilots," said the man's wife.

"No, ma'am. They are highly skilled naval aviators."

"Are you a member of the team?" the man asked Boone.

"No, sir. I'm not in their league," Tom admitted.

"What aircraft do you fly?" the man asked.

"The F-8 Crusader," said Boone, who pointed to the Last Of The Gunfighter patch on his well-worn goatskin jacket.

"Have you deployed?"

"Yes, sir. Three combat deployments in the past four years."

When the hostess announced, "Alexander, party of two," the wife stood up, but her husband indicated for her to sit back down.

"Go ahead and take our booth. We can wait a bit longer," the man told Tom.

"That's very kind of you, sir," said Boone. "Harm, thank the nice people for giving us their table."

"Thank you, sir. Thank you, ma'am."

"What a polite little boy. How old are you?" the woman asked Harm.

"Almost five," Harm answered.

"He'll turn five on Wednesday," said Boone.

The woman smiled. "He looks like he'll grow into a fine young man."

Boone nodded in agreement. "He's being raised right."

"Then maybe there's hope after all, even with all of the damned hippies running around," the husband spat.

"Vernon, watch you language around the child," his wife cautioned.

"Sorry, I just get upset with the direction the country is heading. Thank god there's an election in November to shake things up."

Boone wasn't interested in politics; he had a steady job whether Nixon or Humphrey won the White House. "You folks have a nice day," and he and Harm took a booth by the window.

"Coffee?" asked their waitress. She was a pretty girl in her early twenties, slender, with dark brown hair and soft brown eyes.

"Please. What do you want to drink?" Boone asked Harm.

"Hot chocolate...and I want a waffle."

Boone smiled at the girl. "No need for menus. Ham and scrambled eggs with wheat toast for me, and a waffle for my young friend."

Boone had said the words "young friend" casually; just as any adult would, but Little Harm took it seriously. Harm was excited imagining himself as being Tom's friend.

"I thought he was your son," the waitress said.

"I'll make sure to mention that to his father this afternoon."

"So, you're not married?" the waitress asked.

"As a matter of fact I'm not," Boone answered.

_This may be easier than I had thought. I should borrow the boy more often._

The girl smiled at Boone. "I'm Peggy."

"It's nice to meet you, Peggy. I'm Tom."

"I'm Harm," the boy spoke up. He didn't understand what was going on between Boone and the waitress, but he didn't like sharing Tom's attention with her.

"It's nice to meet you, Harm."

"My birthday is on Wednesday," he announced.

"Then I'll make sure you get a special waffle." Peggy refilled Boone's coffee and left the two alone.

"When does my daddy fly?" Harm asked.

Boone looked at his wrist watch, a Glycine Airman Special-Automatic. "Twelve hundred hours. High noon. Before that, you and I can walk around and look at the airplanes on display. You can sit in some of them. Would you like that?"

"Oh boy," Harm said in an excited voice.

"After the show is finished, you and I will have lunch, then you have to be a good boy while we wait for your dad to join us. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes, Tom," Harm promised.

When Harm's hot chocolate and waffle arrived, the waffle had been decorated with mounds of whipped cream and fresh strawberries.

While the boy dug into his waffle, Peggy served Boone's his ham and eggs. She slipped a piece of paper into his hand with her phone number. "I live in La Mesa. I'm free in the evenings, and I get Wednesdays and Saturdays off."

Boone had been concerned about the gradual loss of his hair, but it didn't seem to make any difference to the ladies who only saw the uniform, and the gold wings. "I'll give you a call this week."

The ham and eggs were tasty, and after finishing his own breakfast, Boone looked across at Harm and saw that the boy's face was smeared with whipped cream.

"Did you managed to get any of that waffle into your mouth?"

"It was good. Thank you, Tom."

Boone took a napkin, dipped it into his water glass, and wiped Harm's face clean. "My pleasure, buddy."

Tom Boone enjoyed spending time with Harm Junior. Boone had a nephew nearly the same age as Little Harm, but the boy lived in Iowa and Boone seldom saw him.

Boone paid the check and after leaving Peggy a sizable tip, he and Harm continued to El Centro.

It was a 90 minute drive through California's Low Desert with little to see or do, but Little Harm was well behaved inside Boone's brand new car.

Because of its unique location, NAF El Centro was known to every naval aviator and played a key role in their initial and refresher training. What made the NAF so special was its combination of unique climate, vast unobstructed desert terrain, limited non-military air traffic and its own dedicated gunnery and bomb ranges. El Centro was an ideal environment for aerial combat maneuvering, air-to-air gunnery and bombing practice, as well as being the winter home of the Blue Angels.

1968 had been a difficult year for the Blues. A team member had suffered a fatal crash during an airshow at the close of 1967, and two more fatalities followed in practice flights in early 1968. While some in the Congress questioned the need for a Navy Flight Demonstration team, the US Navy was adamant that flying with the Blues was safer than a stateside training flight and the season went on as scheduled.

The line of visitors entering the base through the main gate was half a mile long, but with his ID decal on the front bumper, Boone breezed through the back gate with little more than a salute from the Marine guard.

Before they got out of the car, Boone spoke seriously to Little Harm. "You're my wingman, so it's your job to stick with me, just like I always stick with your dad. If we get separated, find someone in uniform and stay with them until I come to get you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Tom."

"Okay, lets go and see some airplanes," said Boone, who appeared every bit as excited as Little Harm.

It seemed as though an example of every aircraft in Navy inventory was parked on the tarmac, and with rated aviators for each type standing by to answer questions.

The F-4 Phantom II was the Navy's hottest fighter and was drawing a lot of attention from the crowd. There was a line of people waiting to sit inside the cockpit of the F-4, but when Boone recognized the Phantom's pilot as a member of his class in flight school, Little Harm went straight to the front of the line.

Boone had to grab Little Harm under the shoulders and lower him into the cockpit, but once seated, the boy's face broke into a big smile.

"You look like you were born to fly a fighter," said Boone, who noticed once again how much Little Harm looked like his father.

Harm looked up at Tom. "How old do I have to be to fly?"

Boone laughed. "You've got quite a few more birthdays ahead of you."

"I want to fly with you and my daddy."

"Give it some time," answered Boone, who wondered if it was remotely possible that he might fly someday with Harm Jr.?

Trish had warned Boone not to allow Little Harm to eat too much junk food, but looking at airplanes is tough duty and a man can work up an appetite. It was a hot day, so a break for ice cream and a soda didn't seem to out of line to Boone, who also enjoyed some ice cream.

The pair had just finished their sodas when PA system suddenly crackled to life. "Ladies and Gentlemen, the world famous Blue Angels will begin their performance in 20 minutes. Those with VIP passes may now go to the grandstands."

"That's us, buddy," said Boone. Big Harm having mailed Trish the VIP passes weeks ago.

"Is my daddy going to fly now?"

"Just a few more minutes. Let's take our seats."

The show began with the members of the team walking side by side to their aircraft, the Grumman F-11 Tiger. It was easy to spot Harmon Rabb, who was a full head taller than the next tallest man on the team.

As each member of the team approached his aircraft, he was introduced. "Flying Blue Angel Number Five, the lead solo, from Beallsville Pennsylvania, Lieutenant Harmon Rabb Senior," the PA blared.

"That's my daddy!" Little Harm shouted to anyone who would listen.

The engine start-up followed the introductions, and then the four lead aircraft taxied out onto the runway for the famous Diamond Takeoff which was followed by a Half Cuban Eight.

Next came the two solo aircraft, and when Harm's F-11 came into view, Boone and Little Harm began cheering.

As lead solo, it was Harm Senior's job to demonstrate the maximum performance characteristics of the aircraft. Harm rolled down the runway and then, at what seemed to be an impossibly slow speed, he performed a Dirty Roll: a full 360 degree roll with the landing and arresting gear extended.

The minimum altitude for the maneuver should have been 100 feet above the deck, but Harm's aircraft was much lower than that.

"Beautiful, Harm. Beautiful," said Boone, who never ceased to be amazed by his friend's skill at the controls.

After completing the roll, Harm retracted the gear and transitioned into a to a Chandelle: a 180 degree turn combined with a high performance climb. The Chandelle was a standard maneuver for any aviator- even for civilian pilots, but few could perform it was well as Harmon Rabb, and no one did it better.

Aircraft 1, 2, 3 and 4 now made their signature 18-inch wingtip-to-canopy diamond formation followed by the Diamond Roll with the entire diamond rolling as a single entity.

When Boone had asked Harm about flying in such a tight formation, Harm said matter of fact, "If our wings touch we're too close. If they don't touch we're too far apart."

When the two solo aircraft reappeared, both were flying in carrier landing configuration, but with Harm flying inverted and establishing a "mirror image" effect with his teammate.

Harmon Rabb was the master of inverted flight and he made it look easy.

"Daddy's upside down," observed Little Harm.

"He'll bring it around," said Boone.

An instant later, Harm came back to vertical and the two planes began a series of opposing scissors, passing so close to each other that it seemed impossible that they didn't collide.

The main group now performed a Diamond Dirty Loop with all four jets in carrier landing configuration followed by a Double Farvel—diamond formation flat pass with No.1 and No.4 aircraft inverted.

The two solo's came back on center stage and made a Knife Edge Pass at over 500 knots, which left the crowd gasping for breath. Harm finished the maneuver with a minimum radius turn followed by a horizontal loop pulling over 6Gs.

It was the highest G maneuver of the show, and Boone, knowing that the Blue Angels didn't wear G-suits, strained while he watched it.

The second solo aircraft now joined in with the main diamond, which began a series of complex maneuvers finishing in the always popular Echelon Parade.

With the crowd's attention focused on the main group, Harm caught everyone by surprise when he made a "Sneak Pass."

Flying low over the crowd, Harm lit the F-11's afterburner and achieved the fastest speed of the show, traveling at just under Mach 1. After performing a series of opposing Four Point Hesitation Rolls, Harm joined with the group for the Line-Abreast Loop—the most difficult formation maneuver where all 6 jets fly a loop in a straight line.

The show continued until the grand finale: a Loop Break Cross—Delta Break with the six aircraft separating in six different directions, performing half Cuban Eights, then crossing the center of the performance area.

The wild applause from the crowd showed how much they enjoyed the team's performance.

Little Harm tugged on Boone's sleeve. "My daddy flies good, doesn't he?"

"Your dad's the best," said Boone.

Boone and rest of the squadron had already received preliminary training in the F-4 Phantom, so once Harm rejoined the squadron he would have to play catch up. Most pilots would be at a disadvantage, but Boone knew that Harmon Rabb would be at the top of the training class in no time.

After the crowd broke up, Boone and Little Harm headed to the officers club for lunch.

After finishing their cheese burgers, and eating two bowls of ice cream each, Big Harm arrived at the club.

"Daddy, daddy!" Little Harm raced to his father who grabbed him and gave him a kiss.

"Hi, Champ. We're you a good boy for Tom today?" Harm asked.

"Yes, Daddy."

"He was great. I wish that Bill Ross and Gary Grissom were as well behaved," said Boone.

Harm looked around and frowned. "I was hoping that Trish would be here."

"She wasn't feeling well this morning," said Boone, who suspected the real reason that Trish didn't come along was because she didn't want to watch her husband fly.

Little Harm was given several pieces of Blue Angels gear, and after a round of backslapping and farewells from the other officers in the club, Harm grabbed his gear and they headed to the parking lot where Harm spotted Boone's brand new navy blue Chevelle with white cheat-lines.

"That's quite a ride," Harm said.

"Take a look at the interior. It has the premium vinyl package with bucket seats."

Harm gave a low whistle. "Nice. Speaking of new vehicles, I closed a deal on a Stearman 75 last week. It will be trucked to my mother's farm on Thursday."

"How many pieces is it in?" asked Boone.

Harm laughed. "One large piece...and several boxes. I'll keep it in the barn until I can find time to restore it."

"When you're ready, I wouldn't mind giving you a hand with the electrics," said Boone, who had a degree in electrical engineering.

"Are we going to Grandma's house?" Little Harm asked anxiously from the backseat.

"Sorry, Champ. Not for quite a while," his father said.

"Scuttlebutt is that you turned down an instructor position at Pensacola," Boone said to Harm.

"I did. I've already missed two combat deployments. I can't risk sitting out a third."

"What did Trish have to say about it?"

Harm gave Boone a sideways glance. "She wasn't happy."

Boone nodded. "We can kick it around later." He understood that Harm couldn't say more with his son in the car.

"Don't forget that we're having Little Harm's birthday party on Saturday at 1300," Harm said.

"I wouldn't miss it. Do you think that Trish would mind if I brought someone along?" Boone asked.

"Tom loves Peggy. Tom loves Peggy," Little Harm began singing.

"Who is Peggy?" Big Harm asked.

"I'll clue you in later."

The drive back to San Diego was long and uninteresting, with Boone and Big Harm talking about their upcoming training in the F-4 Phantom which would take place in Yuma. Little Harm tried to pay attention to the conversation, but finally stretched out in the backseat and quickly fell asleep.

"Looks like he's tired out," Big Harm observed.

"It's been a busy day, but we had a lot of fun," said Boone.

"You're good with kids, Tom," said Harm.

"I suppose it's because I'm on their level."

Once they arrived at the house in San Diego, Harm asked Boone if he wanted to come in for a beer.

"No thanks. I want to get back to the base."

"You can call Peggy from our phone," Harm joked.

"I'll grab your bags while you take care of Little Harm," replied Boone.

Harm folded back the front passenger seat and looked down at his sleeping son. "Wake up, Champ."

Little Harm slowly opened his eyes and saw his father smiling at him. "Are we home yet, Daddy?"

"We're home, son. Mom's waiting for us inside," and the boy felt his father's powerful arms pick him up and lift him out of the car, and then carry him into the house.

Laying in bed in the guestroom, Harm reached for Mac's pillow; only this time he used the pillowcase to dry his eyes.

* * *

[A/N] Five members of the Blue Angels Flight Demonstration team have been Killed In Action: Two in Korea, and three in Vietnam. One of those killed in Vietnam was Commander Harley H. Hall, who is known to have survived an ejection from an F-4J Phantom which was struck by antiaircraft fire over Vietnam. In 1980, Commander Hall's status was changed from MIA to presumed dead and he was posthumously promoted to the rank of Captain. Unconfirmed reports had placed Commander Hall in the Soviet Union, but the current governments of Vietnam and Russia deny any knowledge of his whereabouts. I feel that Captain Hall's story served as the model for Harmon Rabb Sr's captivity in the Soviet Union.

Captain Hall's name appears on Panel W1, Line 122 of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial.

My apologies for the military history lesson.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

The morning air was cool and clear, and Frank Burnett was setting a blistering pace. Mac didn't know the extent of Frank's exercise restrictions but she was concerned that he over doing it.

Their route was different this morning. Moving away from the ocean they passed the recreation center and then stopping at the high school to enjoy the morning sun rise.

"This the high school that Harm attended," said Frank, who pointed out the white stucco buildings with their blue tile roofs.

Mac was impressed by the lush lawns and immaculately kept grounds. Students were already arriving for early classes, many of them driving cars which were more expensive than her own.

"Compared to my high school in Yuma, this looks like the campus of a university."

"Trish had suggested private school for Harm, but I went to private schools and I always felt isolated. When the time came, we decided on public school," said Frank.

"It's nice that you were concerned about what was best for him. Not many men would be willing to take on a ready made family."

"I stepped into a lot of people's lives, and most of them were not happy about it. Once Trish and I married, Harm Senior's friends stopped visiting her. It was especially tough on Harm. He missed seeing Tom Boone and Bill Ross."

"That's wasn't fair to you or to Harm," Mac insisted. "If they were true friends of Harm Senior, they would have judged you solely by how well you've taken care of Trish and Harm."

Both Captain Boone and Captain Ross had just lost some of Mac's respect.

"I know that they called me 'the used car salesman'. I could deal with it, but going to new schools and losing his old friends was difficult for a boy Harm's age. Luckily Harm participated in sports, which allowed him the chance to make new friends quickly."

After watching the sunrise, Frank was ready to continue. "Lets head back into town and do a fast lap around the park," he suggested.

Mac was looking for an excuse to slow Frank down. "I'd love to, but I promised Harm I'd be back home by 0930 to pack for our trip to Coronado. That leaves us with one hour and fifty six minutes."

Frank's curiosity got the better of him. "I've noticed that you never wear a watch. How do you know the time down to the minute?"

"Actually, I can measure time down to the second. I can't explain it, but I've had and acute sense of time it since I was a small child."

"You're a remarkable woman, Mac. Let's go and get our breakfast."

The cafe was crowded, but Frank and Mac were quickly seated in their usual booth.

When their waitress arrived, Mac was surprised to see that instead of Kitty, they were greeted by a tall blonde in her early thirties. She had a pretty face, large blue eyes, and she was curvy, very curvy, with an impressive bustline.

Mac's eyes popped. _My god, I feel like I should be wearing a training bra._

Their waitress broke into a big smile. "Hello, Frank. It's good to see you again."

"It's nice to see you again, Tina. Where's your mother this morning?"

"Mom has a root canal scheduled, so I'm filling in. She told me that Harm is in town."

"Just for this week. Tina, this is Sarah MacKenzie. Sarah, this is Kitty's daughter, Tina. Tina went to school with Harm."

"I was Harm's date to the senior prom," Tina was quick to add.

_A tall blond with big boobs? Was that Harm's preferred type when he was in school?_

"It's nice to meet you," Mac said halfheartedly.

Tina switched her attention to Frank. "If Harm can find the time, I'd love to see him so we can catch up."

Mac shot Frank a look which would have frightened a Marine Raider.

_Do___ not invite ____this woman____ to Harm's birthday party.__

"I'm sorry, Tina. Harm is here on business, and he doesn't have any free time. I will let him know that you asked about him," Frank explained.

"Too bad. What would you like for breakfast?"

"Ham and scrambled eggs, with country fries and wheat toast."

"What about you, Sarah?"

"A Denver omelet with an English muffin."

"We're busy this morning, but I'll be back with your breakfasts as soon as I can," and Tina left the two alone.

Mac looked directly at Frank. "I thought you said that Harm didn't date much in high school."

"Tina and Harm were friends. They didn't date."

"He took her to the prom," Mac insisted.

"Tina's father was killed in a traffic accident during their senior year. Harm felt badly about it, so he invited her to the prom. Harm was the class president so it was a big deal to her."

Mac's attitude changed. _Harmon Rabb. Always the knight in shining armor for a damsel in distress. _

When Tina brought their breakfasts, Frank spoke to her quietly. "I didn't mention it to your mother, but the reason that Harm is in La Jolla is because his father's status has been changed from MIA to Killed In Action."

Tina was visibly moved. "From the time I met Harm in middle school, I'd hoped that his dad was alive. I remember when the two of you went to South East Asia looking for his father. When Harm came home he looked like he'd been through hell."

"It was a difficult trip," Frank admitted.

"How is Trish taking it?"

"She's relieved that the entire ordeal is finally over," said Frank.

"Please offer my condolences to both Harm and Trish."

"I know that they'll appreciate it."

Tina walked away while brushing aside tears, and Mac was about ready to crawl under the table and hide.

_I hope that you're proud yourself, MacKenzie. _

"Frank, I feel like fool. I thought that Tina was Harm's old girlfriend."

"Kitty imagined Tina and Harm as a couple, but there was never anything resembling a romance between them," Frank said in a soothing voice.

Mac sighed. "The closer I get to Harm, the less I seem to know about him."

"Don't beat yourself up over it. The learning curve with the Rabb's is abrupt. Even after all of these years I'm still playing catch up."

Mac was picking at her breakfast when Tina brought the check. "I'm sorry that you didn't like your omelet. Can I bring you something else?"

"I'm not as hungry as I had thought." Mac took a deep breath. "Tina, we're having a surprise birthday party for Harm on Friday night. We would love for you to be there."

"Absolutely," said Frank. "It would take us back to the birthday parties when you and Harm were in school."

"I wish I could, but I'm going to night school and I have classes on Friday nights. It's early in the semester and I can't afford to miss any of them. Thank you, though."

Mac thought it over. "Harm and I are tied up for the next few days, but I'll speak to him about the three of us getting together for lunch. Are you free on Saturday?"

Tina's face lit up. "I am. This is sweet of you, Sarah." Tina gave Mac her phone number and then left Mac and Frank alone.

"That was a wonderful gesture," said Frank.

"I suppose I'm trying to atone for previous errors in judgment. During our conversation in the park, Harm called me out on my unfounded jealousy."

"It means more than you think. Tina's father died deeply in debt, and without life insurance. Kitty couldn't hold it together. She lost the house, and then suffered some sort of breakdown. Tina ran away to Las Vegas and began hanging out with the wrong people. She got involved with drugs and alcohol and made a mess of her life."

_If Tina had my Uncle Matt, things might have been different for her._

"Tina cleaned up, came back home, and now she works part time at a used clothing store while going to night school."

"When it comes to making mistakes, I'm hardly in a position to judge anyone," Mac admitted.

Frank shook his head. "Do yourself a favor. Don't take that baggage with you to Coronado. You and Harm should enjoy yourselves without worrying about what's in the past. Especially when the two of you have such a bright future."

Tina came by to collect the check and Frank handed her a $100 bill. "Keep it."

"Frank, that's too much. Let me bring you your change," Tina insisted, but Frank shook his head no.

"Put it towards your school expenses."

"You and Trish have always been nice to me." Tina gave Frank a peck on the cheek and then said goodbye.

Mac smiled from across the table. "You're a good man, Frank. Any child would be lucky to have you as their father."

"I did my best with Harm. He and I are different in a lot of ways, but we have one thing in common."

"What's that?"

"It took each of us a long time before we found our true love."

"Frank…" and Mac playfully waved her finger at him.

"I'm sorry, but we said there would be no secrets between the two of us."

"Yes, we did, and I want it to continue. How about we pinky swear to it?" and Mac held up her right hand.

"You are an attorney. Is this legally binding?"

"It is between you and I."

"That's my girl," and Frank hooked his little finger with Mac's.

* * *

Wednesday, 14 October, 1998  
1000 (Zulu -3)  
_USS Seahawk  
_Mid Atlantic Ocean

Captain Tom Boone, the commander of Carrier Air Wing Nine, sat on the cat and made ready to launch in his F-14D. CVW-9 was returning home after a 9 month deployment which had included operations over Bosnia-Herzegovina in support of Operation Deliberate Guard.

As the CAG, Boone commanded 1500 men and women, and 80 aircraft. The nine squadrons assigned to the _Seahawk_; including two F-14 squadrons: VF-14, the Tophatters, which was one of the Navy's oldest active fighter squadrons, and its sister squadron, the Black Aces of VF-41.

Boone's aircraft was called the CAG Bird. It carried the number 100: "One-Double Nuts," and was garishly painted in the red and black colors of Squadron VF-14. Because Tom Boone had downed three hostile aircraft- all of them hard kills in aerial combat, his plane also bore three red stars painted below his name.

There had been a changing of the guard. Many of the Wing pilot's had flown in the Gulf War, but only Captain Bill Ross, the_ Seahawk's_ skipper; Rear Admiral Al Cherry, the Carrier Strike Group commander; and Tom Boone had flown in Vietnam.

Other than Boone, no pilot in CVW-9 had even a single kill.

Boone saluted the shooter and his F-14 raced down the cat. Now that the General Electric F110 turbofans had replaced the trouble prone Pratt and Whitney's, there was no longer any need to baby the throttles. Boone reduced power while his wingman, Lt. Alexander Brzenczyszczykiewicz, moved in next to him.

When the squadron naming committee had seen Brzenczyszczykiewicz's name, it took them ten seconds to christen him as "Alphabet."

This morning's mission was a routine 60 minute training flight. Boone made it a point to fly with every member of both F-14 squadrons and Brzenczyszczykiewicz, who was on his first deployment, showed a lot of promise.

Boone held up an open palm to indicate a combat spread, and Alphabet rolled smoothly below the CAG and took up station a mile to his right.

"Ready for a little fun, Skates?" Boone asked his RIO, Lt. Elizabeth Hawkes.

"When I'm riding with you, CAG, I'm up for anything."

Captain Tom Boone was an old school fighter jock who had learned his craft in single seat fighters like the F-8 Crusader. Boone didn't have much use for a backseater, so being selected to fly with the CAG as his RIO was either a high honor, or a cruel punishment.

As one of the top RIO's in the Wing, Skates considered it to be an honor and she was enjoying her ride with one of the most experienced aviators in the US Navy.

Boone went into a high speed Chandelle. Pulling nearly 8 Gs at over 500 knots, he was now moving in the opposite direction of his wingman.

The maneuver had been executed perfectly, but the Chandelle had been Harm Senior's trademark and Tom Boone knew that his friend could have done it better.

After the 180 degree turn, Skates first priority was to check for their wingman. Skates had flown with Brzenczyszczykiewicz and she knew that he was a damned good pilot.

"Alphabet's still with us, CAG."

"Fast Eagle One to Two," Boone called.

"Two," Alphabet answered.

"I see a container ship running at two o'clock. I'm going down to see if they're awake."

"Roger," answered Brzenczyszczykiewicz who watched as the CAG broke left and rolled into a dive.

Tom Boone was a master of aerial gunnery, and he liked nothing better than making low level passes, especially at ships.

In the Tonkin Gulf, Task Force 77 was constantly shadowed by a Soviet AGI- an Auxiliary Gather of Information, which was a trawler jammed with sophisticated electronic eavesdropping equipment. Boone and Harm Senior would sometimes buzz the trawler at better than Mach 1, rattling the ship in the process.

The Russian skippers would complain about being buzzed by Navy jets, but it came to nothing.

Boone began his fist pass by skimming just above the waves. When they passed over the freighter they were low enough for Skates to say, "Looks like the doors on a couple of those containers are unlocked."

Boone made a few more passes and was climbing back to altitude when Skates gave him a weather update.

'We've got a storm front closing in."

"Fast Eagle Two, we've got weather. Do a quick plug and then RTB," Boone ordered.

"Roger. Climbing to angels 10."

There was no actual need for either aircraft to take on fuel, but it was normal to practice refueling during training flights. The rough air would only add to the challenge.

Once the two aircraft reached altitude they rendezvoused with the KA-6D tanker; an A-6 Intruder converted for fuel delivery. The air over the mid Atlantic was turbulent, but Boone made an easy plug, took on a few hundred gallons of fuel and then made way for Alphabet.

The young aviator made a smooth approach to the basket, made contact on his first attempt, and plugged with no problem.

Boone would never say it to the young man's face, but he was pleased with his performance.

"We're heading back to the boat, Skates. Sorry we had to cut it short today," Boone said.

"It never lasts long enough with you, CAG," she answered in a teasing voice.

Boone smiled. Naval aviation was dominated by men, and Skates worked hard to be one of the guys.

Alphabet trapped first. The _Seahawk _was rolling gently, but he caught the three-wire and taxied away to leave Boone with a ready deck.

While Boone was on approach, the sea had become rough and the deck was pitching. "Flaps down, wheels down, hook down," Skates announced. The CAG would never make such a mistake, but it was her job to let him know their status.

"Auto throttle off. Going to manual," Boone replied without any fanfare.

Boone came down the chute, called the ball, and Skates sat back while the CAG spiked it on with a perfect trap.

It was no surprise. Tom Boone had made over 1000 arrested landings on 11 different aircraft carriers; including _HMS Ark Royal _when the Fleet Air Arm of the Royal Navy had operated the F-4 Phantom II.

"You did good today, Skates," Boone said as he taxied his Tomcat to the elevator. The CAG Bird didn't sit on deck and exposed to the elements; it nested in the hanger.

"Thanks, CAG." Captain Boone's vocabulary didn't include words such as 'Excellent', so Skates knew that 'Good' was high praise.

After the debriefing, Boone went back to his stateroom to shower and change into a clean uniform. He was anxious to go up on deck and smoke a cigar before it began raining.

_It's a hell of a Navy when a man can't smoke in his own cabin, _but he decided to check his email first.

Boone's inbox was full, but an email from Harmon Rabb Jr caught his eye:

"Hello Tom. I have important news about my father. I'm currently in La Jolla and staying with my Mom and Frank. I will return to JAG on Monday. Please give me a call when you return to NAS Oceana. Best, Harm."

Boone frowned. If it was good news, Harm would have said so in the email. Boone sent a quick reply, shut off his computer and sat back in his chair.

The walls of his stateroom began closing in until Boone was back inside the tiny cabin he had shared with Harm Senior on the _Ticonderoga_.

Two glasses of the Johnny Walker Black Label they'd smuggled aboard were sitting on the table, a Jenny Lake record was playing in the background, and Harm Senior was tape recording a letter to Trish which he hoped would reach her before Christmas.

_Hi, Sweetheart. The Zoomies and the boy's from the Connie are bombing The Trail tonight, so Tom and I have an evening off. Say hello to the folks back home, Tom._

"_Hi, Trish. It's the guy you should have married. Tell Little Harm I said Merry Christmas. _

Harm spoke to Trish about the upcoming instructor position at Pensacola, and then he began discussing his long range plans for their future. In order for him to eventually command an aircraft carrier he would first need a deep draft command. That meant spending considerable time at sea with the Surface Fleet, and his being away from home.

_Sweetheart, we'll have to tough it out. I can live without flying, but I can't live without you and Little Harm._

Back inside his cabin, Boone found himself circling over the crash site in North Vietnam.

Boone could see the remains of Harm's downed Phantom smoldering on the ground, and he was pleading for Harm to answer him on the emergency radio.

Air Force search and rescue was on the way and would be on scene in five more minutes.

With five more minutes, Harm would be in the chopper, flown to a hospital in Da Nang, and then head home to San Diego to recuperate while his pretty young wife waited on him hand and foot. With five more minutes, Harm would take command of one of the Navy's new_ Nimitz_ Class carriers and he'd be there to watch Little Harm graduate from the Naval Academy with honors. With five more minutes, Admiral Harmon Rabb Sr. would retire as Chief of Naval Operations and draw his pension.

It should have been that way, and it would have been...with five more minutes.

Boone snapped out of it. He grabbed his cigars and headed up on deck to clear his head.

After 29 years, he still couldn't let go.

* * *

Harm and Trish had finished their breakfast and were enjoying coffee at the kitchen table when Mac and Frank returned home.

"How was your walk?" Harm asked Mac.

She didn't say a word. She walked over to him and planted a big kiss on his lips.

"What's that for?" Harm asked.

"For being a sweetheart."

Harm's mind raced over the things he had done recently. With Mac, this usually meant the things he'd done wrong, but he drew a blank.

"We ran into Tina Thomas at the cafe this morning," Frank said.

"How is Tina doing?" Harm asked, and surprised that Mac hadn't suffered a meltdown after meeting one of his female friends.

"She's looking good. She's back home and going to night school, and seems to have her act together."

"That's wonderful," said Trish. "Tina was always a nice girl. It's her mother's fault that things turned out so badly for her."

Trish had raised a six year old son by herself, while Kitty Thomas couldn't raise a 17 year old girl.

"I invited Tina to join us for lunch on Saturday," Mac said to Harm.

Harm was shocked, but pleased. "I'd like that. Mom, can you and Frank join us?"

Trish knew that they'd be busy cleaning up after the surprise birthday party. "I'm afraid that Frank and I are tied up on Saturday."

"You'll like Tina," Harm told Mac."

"If she's a friend of yours then I know I'll like her," she said sincerely.

Harm nearly fell out of his chair. Whatever Mac had eaten for breakfast, he'd make sure that she ate it every morning.

Frank stood up. "I'm going to shower and then head over to the club. Chet Dawson and I are going to put in nine holes."

Trish frowned. "You know what the doctor said about you over doing it by playing too much golf. You need 5 hours of moderate exercise per week, and nothing strenuous."

"We're playing nine holes and using a cart," explained Frank, who was lying about the cart.

"In that case, don't drink too much at lunch, and no more red meat for you this week. I want you to order fish or chicken for lunch," Trish insisted.

"Yes, dear," Frank groaned. "Harm, I hope that you and Mac have a great time in Coronado," and he went into the master bedroom.

"I suppose that I should get ready to go to the gallery. Enjoy yourselves at the resort, and I'll see you both back here on Friday." Trish looked over at Mac, who nodded in understanding that they were to return home at 1800. "Goodbye, Darling," and Trish gave Harm a kiss on the cheek.

"So, what mischief have you been up to this morning?" Mac asked Harm.

"I sent a few emails before breakfast, and now I'm washing your bed sheets."

"How helpful you are. Tell me, Mister Rabb, what other domestic skills do you possess?"

"You'll have to come over for dinner and try my meatless meatloaf."

"Dinner sounds wonderful, if it includes staying for breakfast." Mac gave Harm a long hard kiss. "I need to shower and then start packing."

"Take along the blue dress," Harm said.

"I've already worn it on this trip."

"You wore it to the gallery with my Mom, not with me. And bring the pearls."

Mac sighed. "I don't feel comfortable wearing them. Wearing those pearls makes me feel as though I'm stealing a Rabb family memory."

"It's the opposite. My mom no longer wears them, so seeing you in the pearls reminds me of how much my dad loved my mom. Those memories are hard to maintain inside_ this _house," which Mac understood to mean Frank's house.

"I'd be lying if I told you that I didn't adore the pearls. They're magnificent. I'll bring them along and wear them at dinner."

They kissed again, and after Mac left the kitchen, Harm poured another cup of coffee and sat down at the table, happy and relieved at Mac's apparent change in attitude.

_Rabb, you and Mac should have had that talk in the park years ago._

It all seemed to be coming together, but Harm wondered if he and Mac could actually sustain a long term relationship?

In the short term, what about his returning to active flight status? Mac didn't like him flying any more than his mother had liked his dad flying. Harm had long suspected that the real reason his mother didn't marry Tom Boone was because he was an aviator.

Whether Trish had asked Boone to stop flying and he had refused, Harm didn't know. Harm did know that every week he delayed his eye examinations and the surgery needed to correct his vision meant slipping further and further into the abyss of non flight status.

Was an F-14 going to be a deal breaker? When the time came to discuss it with Mac, Harm imagined it would get ugly.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Wednesday, 14 October, 1998  
1310 PDT  
La Jolla, CA

The outside air temperature was barely 70F degrees, but even with the air conditioning in his Chrysler New Yorker to maximum, Frank Burnett was sweating profusely. Frank had skipped lunch at the club with his friends in order to drive home. He had heartburn that would not go away, which he blamed on the ham steak he'd had for breakfast. Worse was the ache between his shoulder blades, which he must have strained while playing golf.

Harm's rental car was not in the driveway and Frank gave a sigh of relief. He didn't want anyone seeing him looking so tired, especially Mac. Frank was doing his upmost to be the strong father figure that Sarah MacKenzie had lacked in her life, and he felt anything but strong right now.

An afternoon cocktail or a cold beer would have been in order, but the damned indigestion wouldn't go away. Frank walked past the living room, skipped the kitchen entirely, and went directly to the master bedroom.

Tossing his clothes aside, Frank stood under a cool shower for several minutes. After toweling off, he put on his pajama bottoms and flopped down onto the king sized bed, still tried, but feeling better.

Maybe he was pushing himself too hard, but he couldn't admit it; especially to Trish.

Besides getting in the last word, there was nothing that his wife enjoyed more than an old fashion "I told you so."

Right now Trish was at the gallery, embroiled in putting the final touches on Harm's surprise birthday party. The planning for Operation Overlord could not have been as involved as Harm's party.

Frank smiled at his own humor. He'd have to remember the Overlord joke and use it at the club.

The pain between his shoulder blades had eased, and he was feeling a bit hungry. Even so, he was still tired. Propping himself up with a pillow, he began reading Golf Digest.

There was an article on the Old Course at St Andrews, the oldest golf club in the world, and the home of golf. Frank had played at St. Andrews during a visit to the UK with the Chrysler Turbine Car, and vividly remembered losing two strokes in the famous "road bunker" at the 17th hole.

Frank set the magazine aside. Maybe he and Trish could take a trip to the UK in the Spring?

Next year would be their 25th wedding anniversary, so that would provide the cover he'd need for a European vacation...and to sneak in a round or two of golf in the process.

Those Twenty five years were the happiest years of his life. Frank admitted that there had been ups and downs along the way; most of the downs due to his tenuous relationship with Harm. Even so, Frank had worked through them. After all, Harmon Rabb Jr. was _his son._ It was Frank who had been there to raise Harm into such a fine young man, and not Harm Senior, who had had little interaction with the boy before disappearing on Christmas Eve, 1969.

_Don't speak ill of the dead,_ Frank reminded himself.

His indigestion had passed, so Frank got up from the bed and went into the kitchen where he prepared a roast beef sandwich. He grabbed a cold beer and then sat down at the table to enjoy his lunch.

* * *

Wednesday, 14 October, 1998  
1350 PDT  
Point Loma  
San Diego, CA

The Rosecrans National Cemetery was divided roughly in half. The view to the east was of Naval Air Station North Island, while the western side offered a magnificent view of the Pacific Ocean. Harm pulled the Chrysler 300 into a turnout on the eastern side, and then he and Mac stepped out and into the cool sea breeze.

"It's beautiful here," said Mac. The lush green grass of the cemetery dotted with white marble headstones was striking in contrast to the stark, windswept semi arid landscape of Point Loma. "I imagine you must come here quite often."

"No, this is the first time. I'm considering Fort Rosecrans as the final resting place for my dad."

"I thought that you wanted his memorial held at Arlington."

"There may be too many difficulties to overcome at Arlington. I spoke with Frank about his own father's burial arrangements and he suggested I consider options other than Arlington, including some closer to home."

Mac took hold of Harm's hand. "Frank loves you, Harm. He wants to help you as much as he can. He what's best for you."

"I know that."

Mac asked, "Would you want a view of the ocean or of the airfield?"

Harm smiled. "The airfield, of course."

"Why did I bother to ask?"

"When my dad ferried his brand new F-4 from St. Louis, Tom Boone was in the backseat. Not many aviators get to fly a factory fresh aircraft, so it was quite a thrill for both of them. It was also the only time that the two of them ever flew in the same aircraft. They set down at North Island, and by the time the plane was loaded aboard the_ Ticonderoga,_ my dad was calling her Sweet Sarah. At the end of the _Ticonderoga's _deployment, Tom flew Sarah back to North Island. Tom and Sarah made it home...my dad didn't."

At the conclusion of a deployment, and when a carrier was within a few hundred miles of home port, it was customary for the carrier Wing to launch its aircraft and return to base ahead of the ship. Each squadron would arrive flying in formation, and upon landing, a crowd of family and friends would be on hand to greet the returning heroes.

Tom Boone had scored a hard kill on a MiG-21 during the deployment, but he was coming home without his best friend and was in no mood to celebrate. Boone flew straight in, parked his aircraft, and then went directly to base operations. He would never see Sweet Sarah again.

Boone's next duty assignment would be at Top Gun, then he would join a select group of naval aviators to begin flight testing the new F-14 Tomcat fighter. It was a plum assignment; one which Boone knew would have gone to Harmon Rabb Senior...if Harm had come home.

Tom Boone's war was over, but unlike the men who flew them, Navy aircraft continued flying and fighting until they were worn out, or shot down. Sweet Sarah would undergo I-Level Maintenance and return to the fleet aboard the _USS Ranger, just_ in time to participate in Operation Linebacker, the most intensive naval air combat operation since WWII.

The following day, Boone retrieved his car from storage and drove to the home of Patricia Rabb. Little Harm was at school and never knew what was said between his mother and his father's best friend, but he remembered coming home to his mother sobbing at the kitchen table. It was the last time he'd see her cry.

At Fort Rosecrans, Mac put her arm around Harm's waist. "Having your dad's memorial here would be wonderful. I'm sure that your mother would like having him so close."

Harm stared off in the direction of the airfield. "My mom has visited DC several times, and she never went to the Memorial Wall. Frank went there with me once, but not my mom."

"Don't read too much into that, Harm. It was probably too painful for her, especially since he was MIA for so long. Now that Trish knows that your dad really gone, things may be different."

"Before I decide on anything, I need to discuss it with my grandmother. Grams knows what to do in every situation."

It was obvious to Mac that Harm was not going to involve his mother in the decision making. Mac knew that Trish still loved Harm Senior, but she had moved on with her life. Now it was time for Harm to do the same.

"Trust your judgement, Harm. Whatever decision you make will be the best one for your dad."

The pair began strolling through the sea of while marble headstones, with Harm checking the plot numbers as they went along. They stopped when Harm found what he was looking for.

LTJG Howard Samuel Gibson USN  
December 17, 1944- December 24, 1969  
Beloved son of William and Alice Gibson  
Our Baby Boo

"Baby Boo," whispered Mac, and she wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater.

"I can only imagine the fun that the old squadron would have had with Hoot if they'd known about that name," said Harm.

The infantile antics of naval aviators was lost on Mac; who didn't approve of any of it. "Did you ever meet Hoot?"

"No. I've only seen him in photos, but my mom met him once at the O-Club. It was going to be Hoot's first deployment and he was excited to be flying with my dad."

"From everything I've been told about your father, I'm sure that's true."

"My mother attended Hoot's funeral. She said that the Gibson's were already in their sixties, so I imagine they're both dead now. Hoot was an only child, and because he wasn't married it may have been a long time since anyone has been here."

"In that case I'm glad that we could pay our respects."

Harm took Mac in has arms and held her gently. "I'm glad that you're here with me today."

"I'll always be here for you, Harm. Whenever and wherever you need me, I'll be at your side...even if you don't always want me there."

"Mac, what I told you in the park about involving yourself in my personal life. That may have been the dumbest thing I've ever said."

"Then let's never speak of it again." They shared a brief kiss and then returned to the rental car.

"That's enough business for today. Now let's go to the resort and have some fun," Harm said.

"You know me, Harm. I'm all about having fun."

Harm groaned and shook his head. "Are there any Marines who aren't smart asses?"

Mac smirked at him. "There may be a few, but I've never met one."

* * *

The Coronado Bridge offered a commanding view of Naval Base San Diego, the US Navy's second largest Surface Ship base, and the home port of the_ USS Abraham Lincoln. _As Harm drove across the bridge he glanced at the ships in port, and then made the short drive along Orange Ave. to the stately Hotel Del Coronado.

Harm pulled up to the private valet entrance on the north side of the resort where their luggage was quickly unloaded and the car whisked away to the guest parking lot.

Harm and Mac were escorted through the hotel's classic Victorian style lobby, and into a comfortable private office where they would check in.

"Welcome, Mr. Rabb," the assistant manager said. "We have the suite you requested at the Beach Village: a beachfront cottage suite, adjacent to the private swimming pool."

"We plan to walk around a bit before going to our suite. I'd like the windows to be opened when we arrive."

"Of course, Mr. Rabb. I'll see to it."

At the conclusion of the check in formalities, Harm and Mac strolled the grounds while their luggage was delivered to their their suite in the hotel's exclusive Beach Village, an oceanfront enclave of residential cottages.

It was a beautiful Fall day, but the offshore breeze had already picked up so that Mac was glad she was wearing a sweater. "Have you stayed here before?" she asked.

"Just once." Harm's answer was guarded. If he admitted to Mac that he had taken Diane here a meltdown of epic proportions would be imminent.

Instead of asking more questions, Mac calmly replied, "Then I'm sure you know your way around."

Harm breathed a silent sigh of relief. Sarah MacKenzie was normally quite intense, but she had been completely at ease today. Their conversation at the park was continuing to pay dividends.

The pair continued their walk, passing through the courtyard and on to the main pool. Despite the cool weather, many of the hotel guests were enjoying the afternoon sun, and several were using the heated swimming pool.

When they approached the Sunset Bar and Grill, Mac's eyes lit up at the smell of hamburgers cooking on the grill. "I'm hungry."

"We have dinner reservations for tonight at 1930," Harm cautioned.

"That's four hours and seventeen minutes from now. One little hamburger won't spoil my dinner," and they sat down at a patio table.

Mac was true to her word. She had one small burger- with everything on it; including bacon, cheese, and onion rings, while Harm enjoyed a vegetarian chickpea sandwich.

"That burger hit the spot," said Mac. "I wouldn't mind having something for dessert."

"Why don't you hold off on dessert," Harm suggested. Mac gave a quizzical look, but complied.

When they arrived in their suite, the windows and blinds had been opened as requested, along with the sliding glass door leading out onto the patio which had a lovely garden in the front and a private walkway leading to the beach.

"A brownie!" Mac exclaimed. Their suite had a kitchenette with a dining table where a gooey chocolate brownie sat under a dome-covered dessert plate. Mac lifted the glass lid and ate a forkful of the chocolate treat. "It's delicious. Have some," she told Harm.

"I'd rather see you enjoy it." Harm seldom at desert, and when he did it was fresh fruit and cheese.

Mac waved the fork in front of Harm, who relented. "It is good," he admitted and then watched while Mac finished the brownie with relish.

"This was thoughtful of you, Harm." Mac pressed up against him and he when he held her tightly in his strong arms, her heart began to race.

"I want these two days to be special for you, Mac."

_Then pick me up right now and carry me into the bedroom. Put me down onto the bed, and then stay with me until I tell you I've had enough. _

Mac caught her breath. "I don't need anything this fancy. I'd be happy if the two of us were staying in the Motel 6."

Harm raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

"Don't get any ideas. Our luggage is already here." Mac began exploring their suite; inspecting every detail with the eye of a Marine Corps drill instructor moving through the barracks.

In addition to the kitchenette and dining area, the living area contained a full sized sofa bed and a fireplace with a flat screen TV above the mantle. There was also a small office area with a desk and a chair. Their bedroom had a king size bed, as well as his and hers dressers and a walk-in closet.

The white marble bathroom made Mac's head spin: there was a full sized bath tub with a separate shower, twin sinks, and a private dressing area with large lighted mirrors.

After Mac completed the room inspection, they stepped onto the patio and into the fresh ocean air.

"Our room is perfect," Mac said.

"I'm glad that you like it. What would you say to our taking a walk along the beach?"

"There are only three hours and twenty two minutes before our dinner reservation. I'm going to need that time to unpack and prep," Mac warned.

Harm had the same grin on his face as the six year old boy whose mother had claimed was always up to mischief. "I've decided that tonight will be strictly casual. There's no need for you to dress up."

This was a change in plans, and Mac didn't like last minute changes of any sort.

Sarah MacKenzie lead an orderly and highly structured life. She planned her day a week in advance, and her week; a month in advance. Mac's life was scripted, while Harmon Rabb, a fighter pilot, was not only impulsive, he was used to surprises, as well as making instant changes in direction.

_MacKenzie, you might as well get used to it because no matter how much you nag, this is something that you will never be able to change. _

"Okay, I'll play along," Mac said. "Let me get out of these boots and into my walking shoes."

Mac loved the beach, but growing up in Yuma meant that she'd never seen the ocean as a child. They walked hand in hand along the sand, going north to the boundary of Coronado Beach and NAS North Island.

"It was a lovely walk. I'm glad you suggested it," Mac said. The sun was sinking fast, so after stopping for a drink of water at Sunset Park, she reminded Harm of their dinner reservation.

"Let's head back," he said.

When they returned to their suite, the red message light on the hotel phone was flashing. "This is Harmon Rabb….I understand. I'll be there directly," and he hung up.

"Are we in trouble with the hotel detective?" Mac asked. "We haven't done anything..._yet_."

"I need to go to the front desk. You can take your shower and start getting ready for dinner."

Mac was disappointed. She was hoping they would be showering together. Mac gave Harm a long hard kiss before heading into the master bedroom.

By the time Harm returned, Mac was in the dressing area, wearing a robe and putting on her makeup.

"Are we being kicked out?" she asked.

"No, nothing like that." While Mac continued prepping, Harm showered and shaved, then he changed into Chinos and a sports shirt and headed into the living room.

Mac emerged from the bedroom- exactly on time, and wearing a Freya cream linen midi dress. It was a simple dress, but Sarah MacKenzie made it appear elegant.

Mac was surprised to find the table in their suite had been set, and an appetizer of shrimp cocktail was waiting for her. "Dinner alone in our suite? This is very romantic."

Harm pulled out Mac's chair. "You said that you didn't want to go to a fancy downtown restaurant."

"You're paying attention to what I say? Our powwow in the park has paid off. I hope you're not disappointed that I'm not wearing the pearls. They really aren't intended for casual wear."

"We'll have our formal dinner tomorrow night. In the meantime you look beautiful." Harm gently kissed Mac's neck and then helped to slide her chair to the table.

_An officer and a gentleman, through and through. I don't mind this at all._

Mac dug into her shrimp cocktail while Harm enjoyed a starter of Gnudi; Italian dumplings made with ricotta cheese and wild mushroom ragout, watercress coulis and topped with Parmesan.

Their server arrived and after clearing the appetizers he presented their entrees: a double-cut lamb chop with new potatoes and asparagus for Mac, and slow-baked acorn squash with couscous, orange-glazed root vegetables and herb salad for Harm.

After refilling their glasses with sparkling water, the server politely excused himself.

Harm and Mac intentionally kept their dinner conversation light. Neither wanted to risk spoiling the mood by entering into serious discussion on subjects which both of them knew would eventually be dragged into the open.

"The lamb was exquisite," said Mac. "How was your squash?"

"It was quite good."

They left the table to sit on the sofa, and the server returned to clear the table.

"Something for dessert?" he asked Harm.

Harm looked at Mac, who shook her head no. "No dessert tonight. We'll have our coffee on the patio."

"Of course, sir."

It was cool outside. Harm wanted to light the fire ring, but the moon hidden by low clouds and Mac preferred the subtle darkness.

The server poured their coffee. "Will there be anything else, Mister Rabb?"

"That will be all for this evening."

Harm and Mac were sitting close together on the patio couch and enjoying their coffee when the moon broke through the overcast and rose in the western sky.

Mac got up from the couch and walked to the edge of the patio, her body silhouetted magnificently in the moonlight.

Harm watched transfixed as Mac extend both arms in what might have been a gesture of homage. "All hail good moon. I prithee, reveal to me, this night who shall my true love be."

As if on cue, moonlight burst onto the patio.

When the light shone directly on Harm, Mac's jaw dropped. "It's a sign!" She raced back to Harm. "Are you my true love?" she asked, almost pleading for his acceptance.

"Of course I am," he answered without the slightest hesitation.

Mac took Harm by the hand; nearly pulling him off of the couch, and then led him through the living room and into the bedroom.

"Hatch open or closed?" Harm asked.

Mac looked at him over her shoulder. "Close it...I scream."

Harm's eyes went wide before pushing the bedroom door closed with his foot.


	21. Chapter 21

[A/N] My thanks to minimindbender for being gracious in allowing me the use of a plot device.

* * *

Chapter 21

Thursday, 15 October, 1998  
0710 PDT  
Hotel Del Coronado  
San Diego, CA

From the time that Mac was a little girl her life was filled with noise, but right now the only sound in the hotel room was Harm's peaceful breathing.

Mac's curiosity about Harm had been satisfied at last, and pleasantly so. Harm had been forceful in the beginning; holding her tightly in his strong arms, which was what she had needed. Then he became gentle and careful; even tender, telling her over and over again that he loved her, which was what she wanted.

Mac had to stretch, but hesitated because Harm was holding her. She didn't want to wake him, so she just laid there quietly and allowed her mind to wander.

Marriage ceremonies at the Yuma County Courthouse began at 5:00 PM, and Sarah MacKenzie was as close to sober as she'd been in a week. Sarah only had a couple of drinks that afternoon; just enough to take the edge off.

Sarah was sitting next to Chris Ragle in the second floor lobby along with several other couples who had paid their $30 license fee and were waiting to begin married life. At precisely 5:00 PM the clerk opened the doors to the courtroom and began collecting the $35 fee for the ceremony: cash only- exact change.

Chris was in an expansive mood. He had brought along a stack of $5 bills and he was gladly making change for those who were not so well prepared. Several of the grooms told him they were envious of his gorgeous wife to be.

Witnesses were provided by the court, and the entire ceremony took less time than it had taken to park their car. By 6:30 PM, Sarah and Chris were eating dinner in a downtown Mexican restaurant and then they headed to a bar to celebrate.

It was after midnight when Chris pulled his Ford Escort in to the Yuma Royal Motor Inn, and Mr. and Mrs. Ragle staggered into the lobby. Chris rang the bell for the night clerk and a fat old man in boxer shorts and a t-shirt appeared. He looked Sarah up and down and licked his lips, then he took $20 from Chris and handed him a key.

One hour later, Chris was sprawled face down on the bed with a bottle of Jack Daniels on the floor below him. Sarah was in the bathroom heaving into the toilet bowl, having lost her virginity and her dinner in short order.

In the morning, Chris was wide awake and ready to begin the drive to California.

"I've got a lot of big deals lined up in San Diego," he promised his new wife, who took a hand full of ibuprofen and washed them down with Jack and Coke.

After a shower, Sarah's hangover was fading and she was beginning to feel upbeat. Chris was a California native and she had always wanted to live near the beach. Besides, if Chris was even half as well connected as he claimed to be they'd be living comfortably.

Climbing into the Escort, Sarah was excited to start her new life away from Yuma, and her father.

When they reached the California Agricultural Inspection Station on I-8, a California Highway patrol car pulled in behind them. The plate number on the Ford Escort was for a pickup truck and not a car.

The CHP officer lit them up and moved them into the secondary inspection area where the officer ran the Escort's VIN number. The car had been stolen out of El Cajon, and Chris had active warrants in Riverside County for auto theft and fraud.

Chris was handcuffed and an Imperial County Sheriff's Deputy arrived on scene to transport him. As Chris was place inside the deputy's patrol car he reassured Sarah, "Go back home, baby. When I make bail I'll come back for you."

"You are free to go," the CHP officer told Sarah, who sighed and shook her head.

_Straight back to Yuma...__and my father._

The officer had seen the same forlorn look on the faces of other young women attempting to go from Yuma to the California coast. It was less than a three hour drive, but the distance proved insurmountable for many.

The tow truck driver arrived to haul the stolen Ford Escort to an impound yard in El Centro. Although it was against his company's policy, he gave Sarah a ride to the next exit, dropping her off near a Chevron station.

"Good luck, Miss," the driver said.

"I don't know what 'good luck' is. I've never had any."

Sarah walked away carrying her overnight bag and wondering what it was she'd done to deserve any of this? Had she committed some sin in a previous life? She'd never hurt anyone, except for herself.

_Maybe that's why I'm being punished._

At the gas station, Sarah approached several cars with Arizona plates until she found a kindly retired couple who gave her a ride back to Yuma. When she opened the front door of the apartment her father was passed out on the couch with the TV blaring.

Sarah went into her bedroom and rummaged around until she found a bottle of vodka.

Her new life with Chris Ragle had lasted less than 24 hours. Sarah set out to get so blinding drunk that she wouldn't remember his name.

Inside the hotel room, Mac rolled over so that she was facing Harm. His breathing changed slightly, but he remained asleep and with his arms over her. Harm appeared to be smiling, and Mac wondered what he was dreaming about?

It didn't matter. Today was the first full day of their new relationship, and Mac was sure that it would be the best day of her life.

* * *

The voice of _USS Eisenhower's_ Landing Signal Officer was loud and clear. "Spartan flight, this is Paddles. The deck is steady, wind is twenty knots and slightly axial. Your signal is Charlie. Commence Case One recovery."

Harm glanced around the pattern, checking the aircraft in front of him and the one behind.

Like everyone else in the air, Harm had already carrier qualified in the T-2 Buckeye trainer, but the Tomcat was the real deal. A poor performance today could mean a career spent piloting turboprop transports instead of the F-14 fighter.

Jack Keeter was out in front of Harm, and as usual, he was lagging. Did Keeter ever move fast? Luke Pendry was in trial and Luke, as usual, was pushing.

Harm clicked his intercom to "hot" so that he and his backseater could communicate without fumbling for the switch. "I've spotted the boat."

"Anything you need from back here, just let me know," said LCDR Gary "Frog" Reynolds, who was Harm's instructor.

Because Reynold's had served 8 years as a rating (enlisted) before gaining a commission, his call sign: Frog, stood for Fucking Really Old Guy.

Four miles astern of the _Ike, _Harm dipped his nose and began a gentle descending 180 degree turn until he was passing over the ship at 800 feet and 350 knots.

"Mace is on final," said Frog.

LT Vincent Mace, who was flying the lead ship in the formation, had been runner up to Harm for the Outstanding Pilot Graduate Award. Mace was not happy about finishing second, claiming that Harm had won the award due to his receiving special consideration because of his father.

That morning, while the pilots were still suiting up in the locker room, Mace had declared, "Harm, you've been riding on your old man's coattails from day one."

Comparisons had been drawn between Rabb father and son, but they only added pressure for Harm to perform at his father's near legendary level of excellence. Harm Senior had won the Outstanding Pilot Graduate Award with one of the highest scores ever recorded, which meant that Harm Junior was automatically expected to do the same.

"Today it's put up or shut up," Mace said.

Harm brushed aside the insult, but Keeter got in Mace's face. "You'd better back off, Vinnie."

The two men didn't like each other, and Mace hated to be called Vinnie.

"No one was talking to you, Keeter," said Mace.

A shoving match erupted between the pair, with Luke Pendry having to break it up.

"You'd better bring it today, Harm, because I'm catching nothing but three-wire," said Mace, and then stormed out of the locker room.

Frog had seen this sort of thing happen before. After all, in a group of highly competitive young bucks the testosterone level was off the chart.

This was one of the reasons that Frog didn't like the idea of women entering into the Strike Syllabus. Let women fly rotary wing (helicopters) or pilot the COD, but keep them out of fighters and strike aircraft.

In the backseat of the F-14, Frog looked over his shoulder and down at the carrier's deck. "Mace caught the four-wire," which was the final arresting wire on the carrier's deck.

Harm didn't have time to worry about his rival. He checked his Heads Up Display for heading and speed, and was relieved to see that Keeter had finally sped up and was keeping his interval.

"Let's do this thing," Harm announced. He rolled the F-14 onto it's left wing, smoothly reduced engine power to idle, applied the speed brake, and brought the wing sweep to 20 degrees; just as he'd pantomimed dozens of times using a model F-14 in his mother's kitchen with Tom Boone.

F-14A's like the one Harm was flying did not have fly by wire controls. It took a bit of muscle to get the aircraft to respond, but when handled correctly the big Tomcat could be tamed.

After completing the turn, Harm extended the landing gear, the hook and the flaps, and then switched the command ejection lever to the MCO command position so that the backseater could initiate ejection of both seats.

With the gear down and the flaps and slats deployed, Frog felt the aircraft settle into a familiar approach attitude. "Gear down, hook down, flaps down. On speed. Ready for landing checklist."

There was a lot to do, and precious little time to do it.

After completing the checklist, Harm passed along the _Ike's_ port side while Frog watched Keeter trap.

"Keeter caught the three-wire." The three-wire was the goal, and Frog knew that Harm and Keeter were tight.

Harm was happy for Jack, but right now he had his hands full. Once he was abeam of the_ Ike, _Harm began a steady 30 degree bank while slowly descended to 500 feet. After completing the 90 degrees of turn, the carrier looked impossibly close, but as the ship continued to move away from him, Harm's sight picture was constantly changing.

"Nice rollout on the groove. Three fifty (350 feet) crossing the wake." Frog was not in the aircraft to be a cheerleader, but he knew that Harm had this aced. Harm had the full skill set, as well as outstanding situational awareness; which was vital for a fighter pilot's survival.

"Four five three, you have a ready deck. Call the ball," said the LSO.

It was showtime.

Harm focused on the flight deck's markings and caught sight of the ship's meatball, the optical landing system which was gyro stabilized to give a constant glidepath. "Four five three. Tomcat ball. Four point five."

"Roger ball. You're on glide slope. Keep it coming."

Every nerve in Harm's body was alive and crackling. He was no longer a little boy playing games with a model airplane in his mother's kitchen.

This was real. This was his destiny.

From that moment on, nothing else existed in Harm's world: not Diane, not his mother, not even his own father.

Harm's eyes were locked on the meatball, daring it to move. Both of his hands were in constant motion; his right hand on the stick making slight adjustments while his left hand smoothly manipulated the two throttles: a hair on power and then a hair off.

Harm's aircraft had received few upgrades. The F-14A's Pratt and Whitney TF-30's were notorious for compressor stalls during landing approach, but the noise from the twin engines were synchronized perfectly with Harm's careful movements of the stick and throttles.

Harm sensed the deck beneath him, then SMASH!

Compared to the tiny T-2 Buckeye, the impact of the Tomcat landing on the deck was violent and frightening.

Harm pushed the throttles to their stops. The hook caught the three-wire a heartbeat later, snapping Harm's head forward and throwing him into his shoulder straps.

The momentum of the 25 ton aircraft traveling at 125 knots was playing hell with the carrier's hydraulic arresting gear, but the wire won the battle over inertia and the big Tomcat came to a dead stop in under two seconds.

Harm felt like he should still be flying the aircraft but he was stationary on the deck...and with the throttles wide open.

The voice of the ship's Air Boss broke through the haze. "Four five three. Get off the power!"

Harm instantly pulled the throttles back to idle while a yellow shirt frantically waved for him to raise the hook and retract the wings.

Harm had to clear the landing area. Luke was landing behind him, and if Harm forced Luke into a go-around he'd never hear the end of it from Keeter.

Once his aircraft was configured to taxi, Harm gently added power and was directed away from the landing area and towards the island.

Harm's entire life had been focused on a single event: landing an F-14 onto the deck of an aircraft carrier at sea, and he'd just done it.

The trap had felt incredible. It was better than sex with Diane; it was better than anything he could have dreamed was possible.

It hit Harm in a rush. "That was fucking awesome!" he shouted into the intercom.

Frog smiled. He looked back over his shoulder and spotted the deck. "Pendry just caught the three-wire. It looks like you and your buds brought your A-game today."

"Yes!" Harm pumped his fist. This was going to be the best day of his life.

* * *

Mac decided to wake Harm. Anxious to continue where they'd left off last night, she began running her fingers through the hair on his chest and her hand along the inside of his thigh.

Harm opened his eyes and yawned. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong, sleepyhead. I was just thinking about you, that's all." Mac's hand moved further down Harm's body. "My goodness. Look what I just found. I guess you're thinking about me too."

Harm stretched and then he kissed Mac hard on the lips, enjoying the way that she responded. "After last night, I thought you might want a break."

"Think again, Flyboy. My last FITREP said I achieve early and highly advanced qualifications," Mac replied in a husky voice. She climbed on top of Harm, pinning him to the mattress and he began running his hands along her body, marveling again at how well toned she was.

"What else did your FITREP say?" Harm asked.

"It said that I am a leader in physical readiness, and I develop innovative ways to accomplish the mission."

"I think that the mission is clear. How about putting a few of those innovations into practice?"

Mac began squeezing Harm with her thighs, and it took a surprising amount of strength for Harm to roll Mac over and onto her back so that now he was on top of her.

Their mounting passion was interrupted by the harsh sound of Harm's phone ringing.

Mac didn't want Harm to answer the phone, but he recognized his mother's distinctive ring tone.

"Yes, mom...What?...Was he conscious? Okay...Yes, I know where the Cardiac Center is located. I'll head there directly. Don't apologize for calling. I love you, mom."

Mac sat up. "What is it? Has something happened to Frank?"

"My mom found him lying on the kitchen floor. Frank was conscious, but unable to get to his feet. The paramedics took him directly to the emergency hospital. It looks like he had a minor heart attack. Now that Frank is stable, he's being transported to the Cardiac Center for tests."

"Oh dear god."

Mac began climbing out of bed, but Harm held up his hand to stop her. "It doesn't sound serious. I'll drive over the Cardiac Center and see what's going on. In the meantime you can go for a run and then have breakfast. I should be back by then."

Mac hit Harm in the shoulder with a closed fist. It was a hard punch and Harm was caught totally off guard. "Frank has had a heart attack you think that I'm going to break for chow? What the hell is the matter with you?" she demanded.

"I'm sorry, but Frank has had these sorts of events before. I didn't want this to change our trip, that's all."

"Don't be selfish, Harm. Of course this changes our trip. This changes everything. Put some clothes on because you and I are going to go to the Cardiac Center. The two of us will sit with Frank around the clock if that will lift his spirits, and if the doctors will allow it."

"If that's what you want."

"It's not what I _want, _it is what we are obligated to do! Your cavalier attitude towards the man who took you into his home and made you the focus of his life is outrageous. What kind of son are you?"

Harm looked like a six year old boy who had just been scolded by his mother. "I'm a good son. I sometimes behaved regrettably, but I've always been a good son," he struggled to explain.

Mac took Harm's hand. "Of course you're a good son. I had no cause to say that you weren't. I'm just upset, that's all."

Harm understood that Mac and Frank had forged a strong bond. Mac longed for the father figure she'd lacked as a child, while Frank was searching for someone who would give him the respect and admiration that Harm had routinely denied.

"I know how you feel about Frank. I know that feels the same about you."

"Then let's hurry. I don't want to arrive so late that Frank might think that we weren't concerned about him."

As they dressed, Mac feared that her own bad luck was spreading to the Rabb-Burnett family; a family which had already experienced more than its share of bad luck.


	22. Chapter 22

[A/N] The outpouring of concern for Frank Burnett was evident in the reviews and PM's I have received. Although the character appears in a single episode of the TV show, Frank is not only a fan fiction favorite, he is one of my favorite characters to write for.

I began this saga in June 2019. Although it has taken (so far) a full year to cover what is essentially 7 days in the lives of the main characters, we have visited a lot of their life history during that time.

As stated in my profile, I am not a writer, I am a teller of stories. So, lets get on with the story...

* * *

Chapter 22

Thursday, 15 October, 1998  
0905 PDT  
The San Diego Cardiac Center  
San Diego, CA

Sarah MacKenzie hated hospitals. They were big and impersonal, and were filled with people who didn't want to be there. And hospitals were always cold. Mac didn't like cold.

Trish was seated in the waiting room; nicely dressed in a light gray pantsuit, and was leafing though a magazine when she spotted Harm and Mac.

"Harmon, Sarah. It's nice of you both to come."

Harm immediately went to his mother. "Is Frank alright, Mom?"

"He is is alert and talkative. Within 15 minutes of receiving treatment in the emergency hospital, he was already feeling better. Frank wanted to go directly home, but the doctors insisted on sending him here for tests."

"He never did like coming here," said Harm.

Trish looked at Mac and smiled. "Sarah, your being here will mean a lot to Frank."

"I'm worried about him."

The look on Mac's face told Trish that she needed reassurance. Trish and Harm had been through this before, but Mac was clearly on edge.

Trish looked at her son. "Harmon, bring us some coffee," and Harm immediately headed for the cafeteria.

"How did you do that?" Mac asked.

"Do what, dear?"

"Make Harm do exactly what you said without his saying a word."

Trish smiled. "It's called being a mother." Trish patted the seat next to her. When Mac sat down, Trish, took her hand. "Frank is going to be alright, dear."

"I don't know what I would do if something was to happen to him. He's become such a good friend."

Trish wanted to tell Mac that she had become the second child that Frank had always wanted- the daughter he longed for. Then she remembered Harm's stern lecture about interfering.

"Frank feels the same about you. I don't think I've ever seen two people bond so quickly."

"I don't make friends easily, so that means a lot to me," Mac admitted.

"As I told you on the night you arrived, you are always welcome in our home. In the meantime, Frank is going to be fine. Hopefully he will be released to return home in a day or two. We'll just have to wait to hear from the doctor."

Mac smiled. "I feel better now. You sound as though you've been through this before."

"Frank's last major event was in February, 1991, not long after the Gulf War started. Harm was stationed aboard the _Midway,_ which was among the first carriers in the Gulf. We're you in the Gulf War, Sarah?"

"No. I had a gap-year following high school, and before starting classes at the university. I was still in The Basic School when Desert Storm began.

"You spent a year traveling?" Trish asked.

"You might say that."

_Traveling to Red Rock Mesa to dry out my drunken ass. _

"Harm and his friend Luke Pendry were in the same squadron aboard the _Midway_. It was the first time they'd flown together since leaving The Rag."

"The Rag?" Mac asked incredulously.

"The Replacement Air Group. That's where newly graduated pilots are assigned. Annie Pendry, Luke's wife, had a young son and when the war began she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown."

Mac desperately wanted to ask about Harm and Annie's relationship, but thought better of it.

"I've met Annie Pendry. She's...well, nervous."

"That is being generous. Annie telephoned continuously asking me for news about Harm and Luke. Bill Ross and Tom Boone were in the Gulf aboard the _Ranger, _but Tom and Bill were both squadron commanders, each with hundreds of men to worry about. I could not impose on them for information.

"You're a strong woman, Trish." Mac wondered if she could have been so restrained under the same circumstances?

"I kept myself occupied at the gallery, but because Annie lived in San Diego, she began coming over to the house during the days and talking with Frank."

"That's rather presumptuous," said Mac.

"Their conversations may have reassured Annie, but they were stressful for Frank. I'm convinced that the added stress lead to his heart attack."

"He seems to have recovered with no lasting effects."

"Yes. The recovery process was a bit slow, but that was due to Frank having a weak heart since childhood, which imposes its own limitations."

"He's very self conscious about that."

"Yes, he is. When Frank and I were dating he made a point of telling me that his health had never been a problem. I took him at his word, and during our first 15 years together it was true. When we took our first family vacation to the Grand Canyon, Harm wasn't feeling well and stayed in the car, but Frank hiked up and down the trails effortlessly."

"Frank is older now and he should pay more attention to his health." Thinking about their fast paced morning walks and huge breakfasts, Mac felt a twinge of guilt.

"I've been spending too much time at the gallery and not enough time checking up on him. I know that he's not following his diet, is over exerting himself, and that he's drinking too much." Trish became serious. "Frank's life is going to become structured. He will offer up resistance, but it will be for his own good. Your support will be a great help."

"Anything that I can do, I will."

"Thank you, Sarah. Now then, it goes without saying that Harm's birthday party is canceled."

"Of course. Harm and I will cancel our own trip and head back to La Jolla this afternoon."

Trish shook her head. "Please don't do that. You and Harm need time alone together away from the house. Besides, in the event that something should go wrong, the Hotel Del is closer to the cardiac center than La Jolla."

Once again, Mac was impressed with Trish's ability to deal with problems calmly and rationally. It was a trait she'd seen so often in Harm; the same trait she'd criticized him for in the park.

"In any case, I'll call Tina and cancel our lunch on Saturday," Mac said.

"There is no reason to do that. Frank won't be returning home until early Saturday evening, so enjoy lunch with Tina. I think that you'll like her. After all, she's one of Harm's oldest friends."

Mac was intrigued. Trish had established boundaries regarding details of her son's life, making the prospect of asking (cross examining) Tina for information about Harm irresistible.

Harm returned from the cafeteria with the coffees. "Two sugars, one cream," he said as he handed the first cup to his mother a cup.

"Thank you, Darling," said Trish.

Harm handed the second cup to Mac. "Black, with three tablespoons of coffee grounds added to bring it up to Marine strength."

Mac smirked. "Thank you, Darling."

Allen Beckman, MD FACC approached the group, with Trish making the introductions. "Doctor Beckman, you remember my son, Harmon Rabb."

"It's nice to see you again, Commander."

"This is Sarah MacKenzie. Sarah is a very good friend of our family."

"It's nice to met you." The doctor got to the point. "An ECG was performed at the emergency hospital, followed by a telemetry rhythm strip done here. Frank has experienced the classic symptoms of a mild myocardial infarction, commonly called a heart attack. This occurs when there is a blockage in a small artery and it lasts only for a short amount of time."

"Will there be lasting damage?" Harm asked.

"Before Frank was transported to the emergency hospital, Mrs. Burnett administered aspirin, which thinned Frank's blood. She also administered supplemental oxygen. Thanks her quick actions, I believe that only a tiny area of the heart was affected. We are waiting for the results of our tests, but I feel that no permanent damage was done."

A sense of relief swept over Mac. "Thank god."

"Do you have an idea when he might be released?" Harm asked. "Ms. MacKenzie and I are returning to Washington DC on Sunday."

"We'll keep him here 48 hours for observation. If there are no complications, Frank should be able to return home Saturday afternoon."

"Can we see him?" Mac asked. Harm and Trish had been through this before, but she remained deeply concerned.

The Doctor glanced at his chart. "Frank has been moved into Room 305. He will be tired, so I request that you and the Commander limit your visit today to no more than than 15 minutes." The Doctor shifted his attention to Trish. "Mrs. Burnett, I'd like to speak with you about Frank's follow up care."

"Of course, Doctor." Trish quickly took charge. "Harmon, Sarah, I want the two of you to go to Frank's room and visit with him while I consult with the doctor. Do your best to lift his spirits. I'll join you shortly."

Like two dutiful children, Harm and Mac headed for the elevators.

* * *

Thursday, 15 October, 1998  
1225 EDT  
Naval Air Station Oceana  
Virginia Beach, Virginia

The carrier air wing from _USS Seahawk _arrived over the airfield en masse, with Tom Boone, the CAG, piloting the lead F-14 Tomcat.

Boone had made so many arrested landings aboard aircraft carriers that setting down on an actual runaway was something of a novelty for him. As CAG, Boone would normally watch his entire Wing land, but as he taxied to his parking spot he had other things on his mind.

After securing his aircraft, Boone reached into the F-14's tiny luggage compartment and pulled out LT Elizabeth Hawkes' B4 bag along with his own. The rest of their gear would be delivered to them once the _Seahawk_ docked at Norfork on Saturday morning.

"Thanks for the lift, CAG," said Skates.

"Any time, Skates. What's your next assignment?"

Skates frowned. "I'm due for shore rotation." Skates hated the prospect of shore duty. There was no substitute for a Tomcat; an aircraft which rumbled her in all of the places she liked to be rumbled.

"Shore duty is a pain in the ass, but it is necessary to advance your career. That's important for a junior officer as squared away as yourself," Boone said.

"Thank you, sir."

"I was not giving you a compliment, Hawkes. I was merely stating fact," Boone growled.

"Well, thank you for stating it so nicely, sir. Pardon the informality, but what is your next assignment?"

The idea that the CAG could have a personal life, or any life at all outside of the Navy, was unthinkable to Skates. Captain Boone had never married and according to rumor it was because he had been in love with Patricia Rabb, the mother of JAG officer Harmon Rabb Jr.

That kind of scuttlebutt was common in the Navy, but Skates wondered if there could be any truth to it?

"I'm being kicked up stairs. I'm in the running to become the deputy commander of a Carrier Strike Group," said Boone.

Despite having a distinguished record as an aviator, no one could fly forever, and Tom Boone had been flying longer than most. The time had come for Boone to climb out of the cockpit and (hopefully) move up the chain of command.

Skates eyes lit up. "That's a one-star billet! Congratulations, _Admiral_ Boone."

"Don't put the cart before the horse. I'll be assigned to the Washington Navy Yard shuffling papers and making inspection tours until they decide what to do with me."

Promotion to rear admiral was a highly selective process. The US Navy was allowed 162 active-duty flag officers, which meant that fewer than 1% of Navy officers ever reached that rank. Eligible candidates, chosen from among the senior captains, were screened and recommended for promotion by a sitting board of currently active flag officers- nearly all of whom knew Tom Boone.

As a junior officer serving in Vietnam, Boone felt that the brass had been trying to kick him out of the Navy from the day he joined the Navy. Despite a rocky start, Tom Boone had learned from mistakes made early in his career.

Tom Boone was one of the most experienced aviators in the US Navy. He was also a decorated combat pilot with awards for valor dating back to Vietnam. It was a claim which few active pilots in the US Navy could make, and it carried significant weight in the selection of a Strike Group Commander.

Equally important in the current politically correct Navy was that Tom Boone had not been present at the September 1991 Tailhook Association meeting in Las Vegas. Due to the death of his mother, Boone was in Iowa for her funeral and had avoided the resulting scandal which had damaged or destroyed numerous careers.

Boone hated politics. He was in the Navy to destroy those forces which posed a threat to the Fleet and to his nation. Who the enemy was didn't matter one bit to Boone, who had downed hostile aircraft in three different conflicts spanning 29 years.

After promotion board had made their selections of eligible captains, the list had to be approved by the Secretary of the Navy, then the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and then the Secretary of Defense. After clearing those hurdles, the final selection of candidates was made by the President of the United States.

Tom Boone had nothing but contempt for President Bill Clinton, but he had kept his opinions of the President to himself.

After being nominated for promotion by the President, the last step was being approved by a majority vote in the U.S. Senate.

The entire process could take four to six months, but Boone felt optimistic. Although he had enemies among the top brass, Boone also had friends and allies. Boone had been assured by Admiral Jack Nielsen, his skipper on the old_ Ticonderoga,_ that he would make the first cut, which was by far the most important.

Boone's old friend Bill Ross was not as fortunate. Ross had already been passed over for promotion to rear admiral once, and he was not being considered for a second review.

Bill Ross had taken command of the _Seahawk _in 1994, and in the span of four years there had been a murder aboard ship, a crossing the line scandal, and now accusations of sexual harassment had surfaced.

As the _Seahawk's_ commanding officer, Bill Ross was held to be ultimately responsible for everything which took place aboard ship, and three serious events in four years was too many for the top brass to ignore. No matter the outcome of the sexual harassment case, Bill Ross's Navy career was over.

Tom Boone found it ironic that Ross, who had made a point of playing it safe, always following the rules, and keeping his nose clean, would go down due to scandal.

"Goodbye, sir. I hope I get a chance to serve with you again," said Skates.

"Likewise," said Boone, who offered her his hand.

After shaking hands, Skates watched the CAG head to base operations; still every bit an enigma.

* * *

Thursday, 15 October, 1998  
0935 PDT  
The San Diego Cardiac Center, Room 305  
San Diego, CA

Mac was prepared for the worst, but when she and Harm stepped into the room they found Frank sitting upright in bed. Although he looked a bit pale and was hooked up to various monitors, Frank didn't look nearly as bad as Mac had imagined.

Frank's face instantly lit up at the sight of the couple. "Harm, Mac, thanks for dropping by."

"We were worried about you," said Harm, who was relieved to find Frank in good spirits.

"They haven't found a way to kill me yet," said Frank. "Mac, I'm afraid that I won't be going on any walks, at least not for a while."

"I'm just glad you're alright." Being careful not to disturb any of the monitors, Mac went to Frank's bedside and kissed him on the forehead.

"You'd better watch out Harm. I may steal Mac away from you," Frank joked.

The pleasantries ended when Trish stepped into the room carrying a stack of pamphlets, along with her own handwritten notes.

"I'm in for it now," Frank moaned. "Let's cut to the chase. What about food?" Frank asked his wife.

Trish cleared her throat. "The list of restricted foods is rather long, and includes cured meats, such as bacon, sausage, ham, and lunch meats, as well as most meat based fast foods. In addition, condiments and seasonings such as Worcestershire sauce, soy sauce, table salt, onion salt and garlic salt will not be allowed."

"How about booze?"

"You may drink a single glass of red wine in the evening, otherwise you may drink club soda, seltzer water, decaffeinated coffee, decaffeinated tea, or soy milk."

"Soy milk?" Frank protested. "I don't know what that is, but I'm guessing it's something that Harm would drink."

Harm laughed. "I'm drinking almond milk now."

"That sounds worse." Frank looked to Mac. "Help me out here, Mac."

"A diet with less red meat, pork and dairy might not be a bad thing. I'm considering it myself."

"My god. They've gotten to you!" Frank exclaimed as though it was a scene in _Invasion of the Body Snatchers._

"Calm down, dear," said Trish. "There are plenty of meats which you can eat. In reasonable serving sizes, of course."

"Define 'reasonable'."

"3 to 4 ounces. A serving roughly the size of a deck of playing cards."

"That's not enough to make a decent sandwich," Frank protested.

"I suspected you'd be obstinate. That's why I plan to be home early in the evenings to cook your meals."

"Can we have lamb?" he asked, and sounding like a small boy requesting his mother to make his favorite meal.

"Occasionally. Otherwise, plan on eating plenty of fish and chicken."

Frank liked both, but the portion sizes were ridiculous. He was already planning ways to get bacon cheeseburgers delivered to the house while Trish was at the gallery.

Mac's internal clock told her that she and Harm had been with Frank for 15 minutes. She would have liked to have stayed longer, but she didn't want to stress him.

Mac glanced at Harm, who understood. "We should head out," he said.

"So soon? Can't you stay a while longer?" Frank implored. He knew that once they left, Trish would begin reading the information on the cardiac care pamphlets to him- word for word.

"Harm and Mac were up early this morning," Trish said. "I imagine they haven't eaten a thing today."

"In that case, head over to El Caballito," Frank suggested.

"The Mexican restaurant up the street?" Harm asked.

"That's the one. They have great food, including really good shrimp tacos. Eat a few of them for me, and wash them down a couple of cold beers." Frank caught himself. "I'm sorry, Mac. I didn't mean that you should have a beer."

"Mexican food for lunch sounds wonderful...along with a glass of iced tea."

"When are you coming back?" Frank asked Mac.

"After Harm and I check out of the hotel tomorrow afternoon we'll come straight here. Then we can have a long visit."

"I'm looking forward to it."

Harm stood at the bedside and placed his hand on Frank's shoulder. "Right now you need to get plenty of rest. We'll see you tomorrow...dad."

You could hear a pin drop inside the room. It was the first time that Harm had called his stepfather 'dad'.

Frank was visibly moved. "I've waited so many years for you to say that to me. Thank god I lived long enough to hear it."

* * *

[A/N] In point of fact, by 1998, both Boone and Ross would have been out of the Navy or already serving as admirals. In addition, a retired naval aviator who serves as one of my many subject matter and technical experts, said that when he joined the fleet in 1995, which was the same year as the TV show's pilot episode, there were no Vietnam era pilots still flying in the squadrons. This includes any who were serving as CAG. The TV show maintains otherwise, so rather than change every aspect of the show's already convoluted timeline, I choose to follow it.


	23. Chapter 23

I appreciate all of those who continue to read this story. Updates are no longer as often as I'd like, but now that the shooting ranges in central Florida have reopened, I'd rather be standing on the firing line during the week rather than sitting at my keyboard.

* * *

Chapter 23

1105 PDT  
Thursday, 15 October, 1998  
El Caballito Mexican Restaurant  
San Diego, CA

During their drive to the restaurant, Mac had seemed relaxed and was upbeat. This came as a relief to Harm, who was afraid that she was still worried about Frank.

The lunch hour rush was still an hour away, so Harm easily found a parking spot. As he moved to get out of the car, Mac caught hold of his arm.

"Harm, what I said to you this morning in the hotel room about you not being a good son...I'm sorry. You're a wonderful son."

"Thank you. I suppose that we've both said things over the past few days which we regret."

"You calling Frank 'dad', certainly wasn't among them. It meant the world to him."

"It was long overdue," Harm admitted. "I should have said it after we both came home from Thailand."

"Frank told me what happened in Vietnam." Mac saw the look on Harm's face and quickly added, "Don't be angry with Frank. I had to force it out of him."

"It's alright. After all, not many people can stand up to your cross examination. I didn't want Frank going with me to Thailand. I felt that he was only coming along to spy, and to send reports back to my mother."

"You were only 16, Harm. You didn't know any better."

Mac wanted to ask about Bian, the Vietnamese girl who had died at Harm's feet. Did he love her? Would he have gone back to Vietnam for her if she hadn't been killed?

Mac had so many questions, but their relationship was in a delicate stage.

"When I managed to make my way back to Thailand from Laos, I was out of my head with fever much of the time. Frank stayed with me around the clock and nursed me back to health. I can remember him sitting at the edge of my bed, pleading with me to eat a spoon full of soup."

"Frank loves you, Harm. You're his son." Mac leaned across the seat and kissed him.

"What was that for?"

"For sharing some of your personal life with me, but mostly for sharing your feelings about Frank."

"I was wrong about Frank. I was wrong about him from the day I met him." Harm admitted. "Let's go in and have lunch. I'm going to have a couple of beers, if you don't mind."

"Harm, I've told you dozens of times that I don't care if you drink. But for god sake, don't order anything with an umbrella or fruit," Mac teased.

El Caballito's interior was exactly what a Mexican restaurant was expected to look like: Terra Cotta tile flooring, and stucco adobe walls painted in red, red-orange, and orange and green to stimulate the appetite.

The strategy worked, because Mac was hungry. The patio was open, and since it was a pleasant morning, Mac wanted to sit outside.

Their server was a pretty Hispanic girl with long-straight black hair and dark brown eyes. She brought water and tortilla chips and salsa to the table, and handed Harm and Mac their menus. "Something from the bar?"

"I'll have a Pacifico, with lime," said Harm. He was friendly with the girl, but made a point not to smile at her too much.

_The trip to the park continues paying dividends, _thought Mac, who noticed the restrained smile.

"I'll have iced tea with lemon on the side, and bring us the appetizer sampler," Mac told their server.

"I'll be right back," she answered.

Mac looked over the restaurant's extensive menu. "What's the specialty here?" she asked Harm.

"Frank eats here quite a bit, and he raves about the shrimp tacos."

Their waitress returned with their drinks and took their orders: Tortilla soup and a Chile-cheese relleno with green sauce for Harm; while Mac ordered two shrimp tacos with a side order of beans.

"Those beans will be fried in lard," Harm warned.

"I hope so."

"It's your call. After all, they're your arteries."

"Speaking of calls, I need to call Tina and set up lunch for Saturday," Mac said.

"Do you still want to do lunch?" asked Harm.

"Of course. What time is good?

"1100 would be fine. That should get us back at the house well before my mom and Frank come home."

"Good, I'm looking forward to it. After all, I told you in the park that I wanted to spend time with your friends, and I meant it."

"When we get back to DC, I'd like to get together with some of your friends," Harm said.

Mac rolled her eyes. Y_ou could meet all of them in a phone booth. _

"We'll talk about that when we get back home." Mac was relieved when their waitress brought the appetizer plate to the table. "These look good. Let's dig in!"

* * *

1435 EDT  
Thursday, 15 October, 1998  
Office of the Base Commander  
Naval Air Station Oceana  
Virginia Beach, Virginia

NAS Oceana was one of the United States Navy's 3 Master Jet Bases, and the only Master Jet Base on the east coast with permanent basing for carrier tactical jet squadrons.

While still a young aviator, visiting the office of the base commander would have meant Tom Boone had been summoned for having committed some egregious violation of military discipline. At this stage in Boone's career, he was on a first name basis with all 3 Master Jet Base commanders.

"Have a seat, Tom. It's good to see you," said Captain Tony "Tinker" Taylor.

Captain Taylor was a tall lanky man with brown hair which was graying at the temples. Taylor had deployed with Boone, Bill Ross and Harm Senior aboard _USS Ticonderoga _in 1969, and he had been Harm Junior's squadron commander aboard the _Midway __d_uring the Gulf War.

"It's good to you too, Tink," replied Boone, who had changed out of his flight suit and into a fresh uniform which was creased from having been packed in his B-4 bag. Boone looked around Taylor's nicely furnished office with walnut paneling and gave a low whistle. "You've got it pretty sweet here."

Taylor shook his head. "When I didn't make the cut for CAG back in '94, this is where I ended up. I was passed over on my second review for rear admiral in June, so come 31 December, I'm out."

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Boone, who had been at sea and away from the shore based politics.

"Right now I'm just marking time. Scuttlebutt is that you're up for your second review."

"Al Cherry is heading for NAS North Island as Commander, Naval Air Forces. You know the drill: Al gets his third star, and the rest of us scramble up the ladder."

"If that's the case, Buster's promotion to "Air Boss" means that your timing is right. Besides that, your 3 hard kills are tough to overlook."

"Don't read too much into that. I was just happened to be in the right place all 3 times," Boone admitted.

Taylor gave a sigh. "I wish that I could have caught a break. Tom, I have 2 Air Medals, but I've never encountered a hostile aircraft. Not in the Gulf, not even in Vietnam."

"That doesn't mean anything, Tink. You're a damned good pilot."

"Apparently, not good enough." Taylor passed Boone a beautiful black cedar lined humidor. "Care for a cigar?"

"Can we smoke in here?" Boone asked.

"What's the worst that can happen? They make me leave the Navy? They're doing that anyway." Boone selected a cigar and the two men lit up. "At least I'm going out better than Bill Ross. Do you suppose he will put up a defense, or just resign?"

"It's hard to say. Bill was never one to make waves," Boone admitted.

"Not like Captain Nielsen back on the _Ticonderoga. _Nielsen is 80 years old, and he's still as mean as a snake."

"We always said that Jacko Nielsen was the most even tempered skipper in the Navy: he was always pissed off," said Boone.

"Didn't you have you had a run in with Jacko on Thanksgiving Day back in '69?" Taylor asked.

"I got an ass chewing, but I've had worse. Harmon Rabb saved my six." [Details can be found in "When Your Only Tool Is A Hammer].

Taylor smiled. "That cruise back in '69 was my first combat deployment. I was right out of the RAG, so I naturally looked up to you and Bill, and Buster and Hammer."

"I received an email from Harm Junior. There's news about Hammer."

Taylor's eyes went wide. "Has he found him?"

Boone shook his head. "If he did, Harm would have said so. I'm supposed to call him over the weekend to get the details."

"Let me know what you find out...whatever it is. So, how is Harm Junior?"

"He's in La Jolla visiting with his mother...and the used car salesman."

"Trish has been married to Frank Burnett for almost 25 years. I thought you'd be over it by now."

"I'm not over anything," Boone said in a biting tone.

Taylor held up his hands. "Suit yourself. On the subject of Harm Junior, we currently have two aviators who have undergone corrective eye surgery. Both of them have passed their medical boards and are now looking to return to Group 1 unrestricted flight status."

"Is that possible?" asked Boone, who still had better than 20-20 vision.

"Neither of two have succeeded in getting out of Group 3. If it ever happens, I doubt that I'll

be here to see it."

"What are your plans once you retire?" Boone asked.

"Hunting, fishing, and a lot of flying."

"Flying Russian hookers in and out of the Middle East for rich sheikhs?"

"Nothing so glamorous. I bought a fully restored AT-6 Texan trainer this year. It's hangared at Chesapeake Regional."

Boone gave a respectful nod. "Nice. How much did that set you back?"

"More than Cassie and I spent on our first house. Cassie loves to fly, so we'll get plenty use out of it. In the meantime, we rent it out to movie and TV studios."

"It sounds like a nice racket."

"It was Cassie's idea. It doesn't hurt to be married to a financial planner. You and I can take the Texan up while you're staying with us."

"I'd like that," said Boone, who had qualified in the later T-28 Trojan.

"I'll call the field and set it up for Saturday morning at 0930."

"Great. And thanks for letting me stay at the house until I head to DC on Monday," Boone said.

"You know that you're always welcome. By the way, Cassie has a big dinner planned for Sunday. Bill and Vicki are coming."

"It's always entertaining to see how long Vicki Ross can remain sober," Boone deadpanned.

"No comment," said Taylor. "I should warn you that and Cassie is also inviting one of her girlfriends."

Boone frowned. "Is she a financial planner?"

"That, or an investment banker, or a stockbroker, or a CPA. Hell, she might be on the board of governors of the Federal Reserve for all I know. What I do know is that Cassie's girlfriends have plenty of money, and all of them are nice looking...although I never said that."

"I read you loud and clear."

Boone and Taylor spent the remainder of the afternoon talking about old friends and old times. By the time he'd stubbing out his second cigar, Tom Boone realized that not only was he running out of old Navy friends, he was quite possibly running out of time in the Navy.

* * *

Thursday, 15 October, 1998  
1135 PDT  
Room 305  
The San Diego Cardiac Center  
San Diego, CA

Trish was in the washroom when the nurses aid, a young woman in her early 20's with a cute nose, a short blond bob, and big blue eyes, brought Frank his lunch.

"It's lunch time, Mister Burnett," she said in a cheerful voice.

"Great. I didn't have breakfast this morning and I'm starving." Frank watched while the girl moved the bedside table into position and then set down the tray down in front of him.

When Frank removed the cover from the plate he let out a low groan.

His lunch consisted of 1 cup of low-fat plain yogurt, 5 Melba toast crackers, a bowl of fat free, salt free chicken broth, a single peach half, and a serving of sugar free lime jello.

"My god. I've donated money to charities so that hungry people can eat better than this," Frank declared.

"I'm sorry, Mister Burnett, but this is the lunch which your doctor has ordered for you. On the bright side, there will be a snack later this afternoon."

"Dare I ask what it might be?"

The girl looked at Frank's menu card. "1 cup of skim milk and 9 animal crackers."

"Nine? Did you know that there are 12 different animals in a box of animal crackers? Which 3 animals will be excluded from my snack?"

A look of confusion swept over the girl's pretty face. "I'm not sure. 9 crackers is what's on the menu plan. It doesn't specify which animals you'll receive," she explained.

Frank broke into a big smile. "Well then, couldn't you bend the rules a bit and let me have an entire box of animal crackers?"

She hesitated. "I might be able to do that."

"And instead of a cup of skim milk, can you change it to ice cream?"

"It would have to be low fat ice milk. It's all that we serve in the hospital. What flavors do you like?"

Before Frank could answer, Trish emerged from the washroom and stared the young woman down. "My husband will be following to his hospital diet religiously. He won't require an afternoon snack, so don't trouble yourself."

The look on Trish's face told the girl that she was a woman who should not be trifled with.

"Yes, Mrs. Burnett. Whatever you say, ma'am. Enjoy your lunch, Mister Burnett," and the girl fled the room.

"There was no call for that," Frank protested. "Why did you have to scare the poor girl? She didn't do anything wrong."

"I know you too well," Trish snarled. "If left to your own devices you'll begin manipulating the staff- especially the young ladies. The fatherly demeanor you work so hard at cultivating will have them eating out of your hand. First it's ice cream, then they'll be letting you order-in pizza."

Frank's eyes lit up. "Pizza would be great. _Anything _would be great compared to this," and Frank pointed to his tray.

"That is a perfectly adequate and well balanced lunch."

"For a starving Ethiopian! I don't want to eat this crap."

Trish glared at her husband, her beautiful blue eyes having turned to cold steel. "You'll eat what's on that tray...and like it."

Frank swallowed hard. "Well then, why not join me in this bountiful lunch?"

"Fine. I haven't eaten a thing all day." Trish removed the cup of plain yogurt and the dessert spoon from the tray, placed the peach slice on top of the yogurt, and then sat down in the side chair.

"Thanks for leaving me with the lime jello," Frank moaned.

"Lime jello is an under appreciated dessert."

"So are chocolate covered crickets."

Trish ignore the comment and began eating the yogurt. "This yogurt is quite good. I'll have to inquire about the brand so that I can buy some for Harm and myself." Trish looked over at Frank. "Eat your broth before it gets cold."

Frank reached for his soup spoon and then set it back down. "Can I ask a favor?"

"What is it?"

"Will you tell the nurses aid that you changed your mind, and that it's okay for me have my animal crackers and skimmed milk this afternoon?"

The nervous tension that Trish had been feeling all morning was swept away and she broke into laughter. "Yes, dear. I'll do that. In fact, I'll tell her to bring you enough animal crackers to ensure you receive a full set of 12 animals."

Frank sighed. "I'm sorry for causing so much trouble. It's just that, well, of all the times for this to happen, why did it have to be when Harm and Mac are staying with us?"

Trish placed her hand on her husband's shoulder. "I know how much you want everyone to think that you are the picture of health, but you have limitations."

"You see those limitations every night when we go to bed."

Trish shook her head. "Your heart medications are preventing me from seeing an empty bed every night." Frank was going to say something but Trish cut him off. "I've lost one husband. Missing or dead doesn't matter, he's gone from my life forever. I don't want to go through that with you."

Trish reached for the box of tissues on the side table. Frank desperately wanted to comfort her, but he was blocked by the table and he was attached to several monitors.

"Sweetheart, everyone is worrying I'll drop-over dead with my next step, but I feel fine. Hell, I could play a round of golf right now, that is if I could untangle myself from all of these wires."

Trish leaned close to Frank. "Promise me that you'll follow all of the doctor's instructions about medications, diet and exercise...and that you'll stop drinking."

Frank nodded his head yes. "When I proposed to you I promised that I'd always be there for you and Little Harm, and that I'd never leave either of you. I swear to you that I will do everything possible to keep my promises."

"I love you, Frank. You are still the same kind, loving and giving man who rescued me and my son from a life of loneliness and uncertainty. Now, eat your broth before it turns to ice."

"Yes, dear."

As Frank ate his tasteless broth, he couldn't help imagining the wonderful lunch that Harm and Mac were enjoying.

* * *

1235 PDT  
Thursday, 15 October, 1998  
El Caballito Mexican Restaurant  
San Diego, CA

Harm and Mac stepped out of the restaurant and into the parking lot with full stomachs.

"Those shrimp tacos were the best I've ever eaten, and the re-fried beans were amazing," said Mac. "Thank you so much for taking me here."

"You're welcome. Frank will be glad you enjoyed the food," said Harm.

Once they were seated inside the Chrysler, Mac reached for her phone. "Before we head out, I should to call Tina. Are we still on for the 1100 lunch?"

"That works fine."

"Should I tell Tina about Frank?" Mac asked.

"Her knowing about Frank won't change anything. It will only give her something to worry about while she's attending her night classes. We'll tell her on Saturday. By then, Frank will be on his way home."

"I suppose you're right." Mac had to admit that once again, Harm's sensible and matter of fact approach was the best way to handle the situation.

Mac dialed the phone number.

"Hi, Tina, this is Sarah MacKenzie...I'm fine, thank you. I wanted to touch base with you about our lunch on Saturday afternoon…Yes, we're still on. I spoke with Harm and he suggested 11 o'clock. Is that okay?...Good...No, I don't have a place in mind. What would you suggest?...No, I don't, but I'm sure that Harm will know where it is…You do! Well of course I want you to bring them along for me to look at...Great, I'm looking forward to it. Harm and I will see you at eleven. Bye."

Mac turned to Harm. "Tina said that 1100 will be fine. She suggested the Superior Sandwich Shop in La Jolla Village. Do you know it?"

"Sure. It's on Prospect Street, and not far from my mom's gallery. I has an ocean view patio and a good selection of vegetarian items." Harm gave a quizzical look. "What is it that Tina plans to bring along for you to look at?"

"Tina has yearbooks from junior high and high school with photos of you."

"Oh, dear god," Harm groaned.

"Why is it that you haven't shown me these yearbooks?"

"They're packed away. I'm not certain where."

"Hmm. A likely excuse. So, did you wear your hair in a perm? Will you be dressed in flared slacks and belted vests? or maybe a vest suit with flared Herringbone pants? Sleeveless and sleeved pullover sweaters were in back in those days."

"Back in _those days_? Mac, I graduated from high school in 1981 and not 1971...although on occasion I would wear sleeveless pullover sweaters."

"I knew it! This is going to be so much fun."

"In the meantime, what would you like to do for the rest of the afternoon?" Mac stared at Harm in disbelief. "I mean besides _that."_

"The weather is nice, so I'd like to relax at the pool. There won't be many chances for sun bathing when we get back to DC."

"Did you bring swimsuit?"

"I brought along two, one blue and one red. I will model them both and let you decide which one I wear."

Harm's eyes opened wide and he broke into a smile. "Now, this is going to be fun!'

* * *

[A/N] Longtime JAG fans (which includes nearly everyone here) will notice that the accusations of sexual harassment aboard _USS Seahawk_ take place a bit later in this story than in the TV show. Nothing has been altered that is canon: Mac has returned to JAG from private practice (with the Admiral angry with her), and Dalton Lowne died under the same circumstances. Given the TV show's lack of continuity, I feel this change is minor.


	24. Chapter 24

[A/N] I hope that everyone is having a safe and healthy summer. There has been mention in reviews about so called "filler chapters". I don't agree with the concept of "filler," although I feel that any update should serve a purpose. Rather than "filler," I submit this chapter as a "fill in the blanks," with hopes to further expand on the history of Sarah MacKenzie. Mac's early history remains complex and convoluted. I don't claim that the history I have created is the correct one one, but it is one that works.

* * *

Chapter 24

As soon as they arrived in their suite, Harm took Mac in his arms and began running his hands along her body.

"Take it easy, Sailor," she said

Harm frowned. "I thought that the first thing on the agenda was to-"

Mac held up her hand. "My eating those beans at lunch was a serous error in judgment."

Harm nodded. "I read you loud and clear."

"But we can still lay out by the pool."

"You promised to model swimwear for me," Harm said in an eager voice.

"Which would you like to see first? The red one-piece or the blue two piece?"

"The one-piece," Harm blurted out. Diane had worn a red one-piece and Harm was anxious to see Mac wearing the same swimsuit.

"Give me a moment," and Mac went into the dressing area to change.

When Mac returned, Harm was a bit disappointed. Although they looked very much alike, Mac and Diane's body types were different. Diane's long legs looked wonderful in a one piece swimsuit, while Mac's ample curves made the same swimsuit appear something like a corset.

Mac saw Harm scanning her body. "See something you like?"

"It's what I don't see that has me curious."

"Harm, last night you saw everything there is to see, including my tattoo."

"The gunshot wound from the poachers. That was a serious wound, and it was badly infected. I'm surprised there is no scar."

Mac took a deep breath. "I had plastic surgery. I suppose you think I'm vain."

__Careful Rabb, you could be walking into a trap.__

Sarah MacKenzie was a beautiful woman, but she was more than that. Telling Mac that she was an outstanding lawyer and a damned fine Marine would be compliment. Telling her that it would be a crime if her magnificent body was even slightly flawed would make her lash out.

"Mac, getting the most complete medical treatment possible was the best course of action," Harm said diplomatically.

"My father was badly wounded by grenade fragments in both legs. Every month he'd go to the VA and they'd dig out more pieces of metal. When he'd come home he'd have me rub his feet to reduce the swelling. This went on for years. The scars on his legs were horrible, but he steadfastly refused to have plastic surgery. I began to imagine my own scar looking as bad as his."

Harm interrupted. "Your father made his choice, and you made yours. I respect your decision."

"Thank you." Harm took Mac in his arms and began squeezing her tightly. "Please, don't squeeze me...remember the beans."

Harm broke into laughter. "Okay," and he released her.

"Do you want to see me in the blue two-piece swimsuit?"

"Of course."

When Mac returned there was no arguing that she had a magnificent figure, and the two-piece extenuated it.

"Wear that one," said Harm. "I'll change into my swim trunks and we'll go to the pool."

The resort had several pools, and Mac selected the smaller private pool reserved for guests staying in the suites. Bar service was immediate, and Mac asked for a ginger ale to settle her stomach.

After laying face down on chaise lounge, Mac undid the string on her top. "Will you put some sun screen on my back?" she asked Harm.

"With pleasure," and Harm began rubbing the lotion onto Mac's back.

"That feels nice," Mac purred.

Harm had large hands and long fingers, which were perfect for handling a basketball. He also had a gentle touch, which was perfect for handling the controls of an F-14...or for any other tasks which Mac might assign to him.

"What time do we check out tomorrow?" Mac asked.

"Noon, although we can stay on the hotel grounds for as long as we want."

"No, I want to go directly to the hospital to see Frank. He's probably lonely and bored," said Mac.

"Unless my mother has driven him insane."

They sipped their drinks and made small talk until Harm announced, "I'd like to go to the main pool and swim laps."

"You don't need my permission to swim."

"Will you be alright?"

Mac looked at him over the top of her sunglasses. "Yes, Harm. I'll be fine."

Sarah MacKenzie could take care of herself, and as Harm headed to the main pool, he knew that she had just made it clear.

* * *

After completing Officer Candidate School, most graduates went home or traveled while waiting for a new class to form at the The Marine Corps Basic School in Quantico. The Basic School is 28 week program where newly commissioned Marine second lieutenants complete the Officer Basic Course (OBC) prior to beginning their Military Occupational Specialty (MOS).

The OBC prepares new officers for service in the Corps, and educates them in fundamentals of being a leader of Marines.

"First you learn to fight. Then you learn to lead," is how her Uncle Matt described the Officer Basic Course.

Mac had no money to travel, and no home to speak of. She was TDY to Defense Language Institute, Foreign Language Center, located on the Presidio in Monterey CA where she would test for the Defense Language Aptitude Battery. The DLAB was designed to test individuals in specific foreign languages needed by the US military. Mac would test in Farsi (Persian) and Russian.

At that time, female Marines were not allowed to serve in combat billets, so Mac was hoping to be assigned MOS 8244 Foreign Area Officer. A FAO (Fay-oh) serves overseas tours as a defense attaché, a security assistance officer, a political-military planner in a service's headquarters, or as the representative of the Secretary of Defense in the country of assignment.

The DLIFLC was a "joint-service" school run by the Army, and you could not ask for a nicer duty station than the Presidio. As a commissioned officer, Mac had a small, but comfortable private room with a view of the Pacific Ocean. Officers paid for their own meals whether they ate them on base or not, so Mac was always at the head of the chow line.

Despite the Presidio's stunning scenery, Mac's days were busy, leaving her with little or no free time beyond her early morning run along the fog shrouded coastline.

At the conclusion of the five day testing period, Mac scored a 3+, the highest possible score in Category III languages, which included Persian. Thanks to her two years of living in the dorm in the University of Minnesota with a Jewish-Russian Émigré, Mac managed a better than qualifying score of 1+ in the Russian language.

After testing was complete, Mac had two weeks before a new class would form at The Basic School.

The Corps would pick up the tab for transportation between the Presidio and Quantico, but side trips would be paid for out of Mac's own pocket. A vacation was out of the question. Mac already owed her Uncle Matt thousands of dollars for expenses incurred during her four years at the University.

Matt O'Hara didn't want his niece's money, but Mac intended to pay back every cent.

When Mac arrived at TBS at Camp Barrett, she was automatically designated MAT (Marine Awaiting Training) and assigned to Company M- Mike Company.

The facilities at Camp Barrett were not plush like those at the Presidio, but this was the Marine Corps and not the US Army. Doing more with less would be ingrained in the mind every Marine Corps officer.

Mac shared a room with 2ndLt Amanda Jones, a short, red-faced girl with blonde hair worn in a pixie-cut. Jones was not an attractive woman, and her prominent front teeth reminded Mac of Rocky The Flying Squirrel.

"Call me Jonesy. It's the name my dad had in the Corps."

"in that case, call me Mac."

"What was your dad's name and battalion?" asked Jones.

"Staff Sergeant Joe MacKenzie. 3rd Platoon, Bravo Company, 3rd Battalion, 3rd Marines. Your dad?"

Jonesy's homely face broke into a wide grin. "It's a small world. Second Lieutenant Larry Jones. 1st Platoon, Echo Company, 2nd Battalion, 3rd Marines. Was your dad in the Hill Fights?"

"He saw the worst of it. He's 100% disabled from grenade fragments in both legs. Did your dad get through okay?"

"The middle finger of his right hand was shot off. My dad claims that losing a middle finger is the worst thing that can happen to a Marine!"

Mac laughed. "I can't argue his point."

"My dad retired in 1985 as a LtCol. He was a mustang up from the ranks, so I wanted to enlist and come up the hard way, like he did, but my dad insisted that I go to college. My dad supports me in everything I do. I'm sure that your dad does the same for you."

Mac was anxious to change the subject. "What's your first choice for MOS?"

"0402 Logistics Officer."

Mac frowned. A Logistics Officer was assigned to battalion headquarters and charged with the management and planning for manpower, motor transport, equipment maintenance, and supply services. The LO would be in direct contact with the battalion commander, who was a normally Lieutenant Colonel.

"What if you get stuck somewhere like Camp Courtney in Okinawa and assigned to a hard ass battalion CO?" Mac asked.

"Admin and Logistics are the top billets for women, and I want to fit into the Corps the best way that I can. What's your first choice for MOS?"

"8244, Foreign Area Officer."

Jonesy broke into laughter.

"What's so funny?" Mac asked indignantly.

"Foreign travel, easy duty at an embassy or in a consulate, and your evenings and weekends free, unless you're going to an official function or dinner party. Only Academy graduates will stand a chance of getting get that billet. You're setting yourself up for disappointment."

During the weeks prior to their class forming, the girls had only routine duties and 'make work" assignments. Mac had ample time to spend in the gym or training on the infamous obstacle course.

Unlike OCS where male and female candidates were placed in segregated platoons, male and female officers trained together at The Basic School. Peer reviews among the females at OCS had been brutal, and Mac expected worse at TBS. Despite the all male "gun club" mentality, Mac intended to be a leader, and not just among the females, she planned to win the respect of the men.

"You don't have to be the fastest, or the strongest, or even the best shot, but NEVER quit. No one respects quitters," her Uncle Matt hold told her.

Mac continued working out every day (sometimes twice a day). It was going to be a winter class and that meant rain and snow in northern Virginia. Mac hated the cold, but after spending four years at the University of Minnesota she could tolerate it.

On the Saturday evening before their class formed, Jonesy announced, "Let's drive into Fredericksburg and hit a club."

"I don't drink," said Mac.

"Great. I can get plastered and you can drive us back. Should I give you my car keys right now?"

"I'm on a tight budget. I don't have money for evenings out," Mac admitted.

"I have money. It will be my treat."

"I really shouldn't go."

"Please, Sarah. When course begins on Monday we'll be stuck here for 28 weeks."

That was an exaggeration. When training began they'd continue to have weekend liberty, but the girls would be too tired to consider it.

Mac had to admit that she wouldn't mind getting out of the camp and going into town. "Okay. Let me see what I have to wear," and she began looking through her locker and her bags.

Jonesy broke into a toothy grin. "We'll have a great time. I promise."

Mac went into the room's small head to prep and emerged wearing a short black coat, black halter top, a short black skirt and tall black boots.

"Wow, you look hot," said Jonesy who had already changed into a shapeless navy blue cocoon dress with modest 3/4 kimono sleeves and simple black pumps.

The girls began their odyssey at the Ale House on Caroline Drive.

Mac quickly grew tired of being hit on at the bar, so after Jonesy had primed herself with a couple of pints, they headed into a seeder part of town to The Alley Club; a large venue catering mostly to the metal/punk crowd.

"You listen to that stuff? Mac asked.

"Not when I'm at home. My father would never allow it. He only listens to Elvis Presley."

Aborted Angels; a death metal group from Richmond, was performing that night. The band was on the verge of breaking out and making it big so the venue was crowded, but thanks to the way that Mac was dressed, the girls managed to get good seats.

"Aborted Angels is an awesome band," said Jonesy, who was already on her second beer.

Death metal vocals were mostly growls, hoarse roars and snarls, but the beat was driving and Mac was surprised to find that she was enjoying herself.

_MacKenzie, you missed out on a __lot_ _of good times __by __always __being drunk._

After the band's last set, the crowd broke up and left for other clubs, but the girls decided to go into the bar and relax.

Mac picked out a quiet booth and sipped iced tea while Jonesy had another draft beer.

"I'm really enjoying myself. You're a lot of fun, Sarah," said Jonesy.

Mac rolled her eyes. "Not many people have ever said that about me."

"Well, you're a little slow getting up to speed, but you're good company."

Mac smiled. "I'm also having a good time. Thanks for the invite, and for picking up the tab. I'll square it with you when we get paid."

"Don't worry about it. My dad takes care of my bills."

The girls were still sipping their drinks when a tall man with short curly blond hair entered the club and headed for the bar. He looked to be in his late twenties, and he had the build of a former high school or junior college athlete who had added some extra pounds since leaving school. He was bit soft around the middle so he tried to compensate by dressing in designer clothes, which only made him appear awkward and uncomfortable.

"That guy's cute," Jonesy whispered.

Mac shrugged. She liked big guys, but when she saw him ordering an umbrella drink at the bar, hope was fading fast.

The man already had a few drinks under his belt. When he spotted the girls he smiled and walked towards the booth.

"Look, he's coming this way," Jonesy said in an excited voice and she slid over to make room for him.

The man ignored Jonesy and squeezed in next to Mac. "Hi, I'm Brett."

Mac was not thrilled at how he simply sat down uninvited, and she noticed right away that he was wearing too much cheap cologne. "I'm Sarah and this is Amanda," she said in a disinterested voice.

"Hi, Brett," Amanda spoke up in a cheerful voice.

Brett tossed a scowl at Amanda, which made it plain he felt she was no better than a piece of used furniture. "It's nice to meet you, Sarah."

"We're about to leave," Mac announced. She was not interested in Brett's approach, or his being rude to Amanda.

"Let me buy you a drink before you go," Brett suggested.

"No thanks. We're having a girl's night out and we'd like to be left alone."

"Well then, why don't you and I get out of here so that you're friend can be left alone."

Mac snarled. "Look, pal, I don't know how to break it to you any other way. I've given you the cold shoulder, refused your drinks, and now I'd like you to just get up and leave me the hell alone."

"If it's because of your friend, I know that you just hang with her to make her feel good. I suppose that someone has to drag her out in public once and a while."

Jonesy dropped her head. It hurt, and because Mac was with her, it was worse.

Mac was incensed. "That is the most inconsiderate thing I've ever heard. You're an asshole."

Brett gave a sly smile. "Aren't those are the kinds of guys you go for, Sarah?"

"That's it! You can try again another time, and with another woman, but right now it's over. This is your chance to walk away with a little dignity, and without your balls being bruised."

"There's no reason to get bent out of shape." Brett reached down and put his hand on Mac's thigh.

"Don't touch me, you creep," Mac protested and she used both of her hands to push Brett away.

"Don't push me, you bitch."

Brett gave Mac a hard shove and Jonesy got out of the booth and began screaming for security.

Brett was looking to leave in a hurry, but he was a big guy and having already had a too many drinks, he was having trouble getting out from around the table. When Brett got out of the booth, Jonesy was still calling for security and was blocking his way.

Brett roughly shoved Jonesy aside and Mac was out of the booth in a heartbeat.

All of the lessons in hand to hand combat from OCS, as well as her Uncle Matt's instruction in karate came automatically.

Mac's left fist sank deep into Brett's soft stomach. When he doubled-over in pain, Mac brought up her right foot and kicked him squarely in the head. It was a solid shot to the right temple and Brett dropped to the floor...out cold.

This was the first time that Mac had ever used her hand to hand combat skills, and it gave her a rush.

"Get on your feet," Mac shouted over the prostrate body. "Come on, asshole. Get up!" she chided, but Brett wasn't going anywhere.

Mac turned to Jonesy. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Sarah. He didn't hurt me."

Jonesy knew that Mac was strong; she had seen her working out in the gym many times, but Brett was a big man and Mac had just beat him unconscious. This girl was bad ass!

Head of security, Ralph Whitmer, arrived and asked if the two girls were alright?

"We're fine, no thanks to you." Mac pointed to Brett, who was lying crumpled on the floor. "If this is an example of the kinds of men that you let into this place, I'm going to spread the word that this club isn't safe for women."

Ralph knew that a comments like that could damage the club's reputation. "I'm very sorry this happened. Let me get the manager so that he can speak with you." Ralph pointed to Brett. "In the meantime, we'll take care of _this_."

Two bouncers arrived: a burly black man and a college age blonde man who was built like a defensive back.

"Take him into the security room, and keep him there until I can talk to him," Ralph instructed the bouncers who dragged the still unconscious Brett roughly across the floor.

A well groomed man in a nicely tailored dark blue suit arrived and introduced himself as Byron Thomas, the club's manager.

"Ladies, I want to offer my sincere apologies for what just happened. After the band's final set, we allowed our security measures to go lax." He looked directly at Ralph and added, "This is totally unacceptable."

"No excuses. I dropped the ball," said Ralph, who lowered his eyes.

Mac was impressed with the man's honesty. "We came here to listen to the band and then we went into the bar to relax and have a drink. That was when that jerk insulted my girlfriend and started shoving us around. I don't feel safe here and I plan to let everyone know it."

"There is no need to be hasty," said Byron, who was looking Mac over closely.

A beautiful young woman, well dressed, and with a big rack was exactly the type of girl he'd like to see more of in the club. Her bucktooth girlfriend he could take or leave, but a good mix of ladies never hurt any club's bottom line.

Byron took the girl's check off of the table and put it in his pocket. "Our kitchen is still open, and our food is as good as anywhere in Fredericksburg. Allow me to me treat you both to dinner and more drinks," Byron said.

"Cheeseburgers?" Mac asked.

"Thick, and cooked any way you like them." Byron motioned to a waitress, a pretty redhead, and told her the girls could order whatever they wished.

"Of course, Mister Thomas. This way ladies," said their server who lead the girls to a clean booth.

After taking their dinner orders, the waitress told Mac, "I saw the way that you kicked that guys ass. Wow!" She looked at Jonesy and added, "You're lucky to have a girlfriend who can look out for you."

"I'll never go anywhere without her," said Jonesy, who ordered a beer and a shot.

* * *

Inside the club's security office, a blast of ammonia brought Brett around.

"Where am I? What happened?" he moaned.

"You're in a world of shit," Ralph deadpanned. "As for what happened, you got your ass handed to you by a chick who didn't like you pushing her and her girlfriend around."

"She pushed me first."

Ralph believed none of it. "Okay, big man. Let's run the surveillance video," and he placed a cassette into the player.

The grainy video showed Brett moving close to Mac, his hand disappearing below the table, and her pushing him away. What followed was Brett giving Mac a hard shove and then his pushing aside Jonesy, which lead to the confrontation.

"Looks cut and dry to me," Ralph said.

"The brunette with the big tits blindsided me," Brett explained.

Brett hadn't enjoyed watching how easily Mac had knocked him out, while Ralph wondered if Mac might be available to work as a bouncer?

"Now listen, dickhead," Ralph said in an angry tone. "Because of you, my ass is in a sling with my boss. I've got no use for tough guys who shove women around. As far as I'm concerned, you're lower than whale shit."

"I know the law. Let me go, or I'll call the police," Brett demanded.

"You've got to be shitting me. When I show the cops the tape of you shoving two girls around, you'll be charged with assault and battery."

"I'm the one who got beat up!"

"I'm surprised that she hit you with her fist. She should have bitch slapped you until you cried."

"I'm the victim," Brett insisted.

"I'll look forward to hearing you testify in court about how a girl kicked your ass."

"You have no legal right to keep me here."

"Point taken. Besides, I'm sick of looking at you." Ralph punched the intercom button. "Rosy, Tommy. I need both of you."

The two men quickly entered the room. "What's up, boss?" asked Rosy. He was the black man and the larger of the pair.

"Our friend is ready to leave, but before he goes, give him the VIP tour of our facilities. Be sure to show him the trash dumpsters. I want him to see firsthand what we do with garbage."

Rosy smiled as he pulled Brett to his feet. "It's too bad about your fancy threads."

"You can't do this!" Brett shouted as he was being dragged him out of the office.

Ralph took Tommy aside. "When that asshole climbs out of the dumpster, I want you to rough him up. No broken bones...and don't leave any marks."

"No problem," said the former junior college defensive back who slipped on a pair of thin leather gloves.

After finishing their excellent cheese burgers, Mac said, "This was one hell of an evening."

Jonesy grinned. "My daddy always said that the best way to cap off a liberty was with dinner and a fight. I guess we're real Marines now, just like our dads." Jonesy hoisted her beer. "To the Third Marine Division."

Mac raised her glass of iced tea. "To the Fighting Third. _Fidelity, Valor, Honor," _which the motto of the Third Division.

Mac set down her glass and signaled to their waitress. "What do you have for dessert?"

* * *

Back at the pool, Harm returned from his swim.

"Did you miss me?" he asked Mac, who was laying face down on the chaise lounge and with her legs tightly clenched.

Mac looked up and eyed Harm hungrily. "More than you know." Mac had been running through the confrontation with Brett over an over again in her mind. Her bikini bottoms were wet, and a space had opened inside of her that Harm was about to fill. "Lets head back to the room."

"So soon? Is your stomach still bothering you?" Harm asked.

"It's not my stomach."

"Then what's the matter?" Harm asked.

"I _want _you...right now."

Harm looked confused. "What about the beans?"

"To hell with the beans." Mac tied her bikini top, got up from the chaise lounge, and lead Harm to their suite.

* * *

[A/N 1] I want to thank csincisfan01 for dressing Mac for the club. A big thanks to Rebecca, my subject matter expert on women in the Marine Corps. The bar fight was presented essentially unchanged, save for the characters. Thank you, Becca. Any man messing with you got exactly what he deserved!


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Mac pulled the bed sheet over Harm and herself and then rested her head on his chest, purring like a kitten. "That was wonderful,"

"I'm glad," said Harm.

"Tonight, I promise that it is going to be all about you."

Mac was feeling guilty that she was placing her own desires- more like her own urgent needs, ahead of what she felt that Harm would want.

Harm kicked aside the bed sheet. "Why did you do that?" Mac asked.

"I wanted to look at you."

_Comparing me with Diane? For god sake, MacKenzie. Stop it!_

"You're pretty easy on the eyes yourself." Mac felt a breeze moving across the bed. "Harm, we didn't shut the window!"

Harm was unconcerned. "That window faces away from the other rooms."

"Well, someone on the hotel staff may have heard us."

"In that case, if the gardener runs up to me and gives me a high five, we'll know why."

Mac sat up straight in the bed. "You are quite self confident, Commander."

Harmon Rabb Junior was not lacking in self confidence.

Harm had achieved what was arguably the most difficult skill in aviation: landing a jet fighter onto an aircraft carrier at sea. In the years that followed, Harm had not only mastered the skill, he had excelled at it. Following his corrective eye surgery and his return to active flight status, Harm planned to pick up his aviation career where he'd left off.

Harm was nervous about the expected confrontation with Admiral Chegwidden, who would argue that Harm was putting his naval career at risk by chasing a dream.

Of course he was, but it was the dream that Harm had been chasing from day that his father had taken him aboard the _Hornet _and allowed him to sit in the cockpit of a jet fighter.

Was Harm as good a pilot as his father? That question that had dogged Harm from the day he'd earned his wings.

Tom Boone had been Harm Senior's wingman. Harm had wanted to pose that question to Boone a dozen times, but he was afraid to hear the CAG's answer.

Instead of dwelling on that, Harm thought back to what his mother had told him: "You've never failed at anything you've attempted."

_I'm not about to start now._

"I said, you are quite self confident, Commander," Mac insisted.

"Major, being with you inspires a man's confidence."

"It's getting pretty deep in here, Harm. By the way, what time is dinner?"

"2000. I still need to pick up my suit at the hotel dry cleaner. What time is it now?

"1652. I'll need two hours to prep."

Harm took Mac in his arms and whispered in her ear. "In that case, we have time."

"Harm! The window."

Before Mac could get out of bed to shut the window, Harm grabbed her, rolled her over onto her back and then looked into her huge brown eyes. "To hell with the window."

* * *

Thursday, 15 October, 1998  
1715 PDT  
The San Diego Cardiac Center. Room 305  
San Diego, CA

As they sat together in Frank's hospital room, Trish perused an Art News magazine while Frank read the Wall Street Journal.

"Any idea of what time the kid's will be coming to the hospital tomorrow" Trish asked.

It did not escape Frank that Trish had included Mac as one of her own children.

"Check out time at is at noon. Mac said they'd come directly here, so I'd expect them after lunch."

"It will be good to see them," and Trish returned to her magazine.

Frank spoke up. "One of us should be doing something productive. I can't get out of here until Saturday, but you could go into the gallery tomorrow," he suggested.

Trish set down her magazine. "The reason that I took a room at the Hilton was to be closer to hospital, and to you. If I go into the gallery I might was well go back home. Is that you want me to do?"

The look on his wife's face told Frank that there could only be one possible answer.

"Of course not. How could you even think that? Sweetheart, you can't imagine how much it means to me to have you here. I was only worried that you might be getting bored by just sitting around."

Trish flashed her beautiful blue eyes at Frank. "Now that you mention it, it would be a good idea for me to go into the gallery for a few hours in the morning. Marianne has been been left unsupervised for too long."

Frank frowned at the mention of Marianne, who acted as Trish's assistant at the gallery. "Get rid of her and bring in someone that you can depend on...and don't suggest Mac."

"I admit that Marianne has her faults, but she was working at the gallery when I arrived," Trish explained.

"So what? You own the place. Sack her and bring in someone qualified."

"Is that the way that things are done in the auto industry?"

"Sweetheart, it's the way that things are done in every industry. Would you like me to go into the gallery on Tuesday and fire Marianne? Now that I can't play golf it would give me something to do."

Trish was shocked. "You can't be serious?"

"Back at Chrysler, I handed out pink slips on the night before Thanksgiving. Trish, you're paying Marianne good money, and with nothing to show for it."

This was the side of Frank Burnett that Trish had never seen. She knew her husband only as a kind, generous, giving man who had accepted her and her son into his life. That Frank could be a ruthless executive seemed far fetched, but Trish supposed that he had once been exactly that.

More to the point, Trish knew that everything Frank had said about Marianne was true.

"I will consider what you said. You do understand that I can't let Marianne go without first finding a replacement."

"I have a few thoughts on that," said Frank.

Trish looked at her watch, the Hermes Cape Cod in 18K Yellow Gold with an Alligator Strap that Frank had given to her on their tenth wedding anniversary. "We'll talk about it later. I'm going to the cafeteria for an early dinner."

"That's fine. My dinner is at six."

"I know. I'll be here to ensure that you eat everything on your tray, and with no substitutions."

* * *

Thursday, 15 October, 1998  
1940 PDT  
Hotel Del Coronado  
San Diego, CA

Harm had already changed into his freshly cleaned and pressed suit when Mac emerged from the dressing area.

Harm's eyes lit up. "You look amazing in that dress." Although it was the same navy blue dress that Mac had worn to the gallery with Trish, now Mac was wearing it for him.

"Thank you. You look very nice yourself. I'd like you to help me with your mom's pearls."

"With pleasure." Harm removed the strand from the same blue case that Harm Senior had given his mother on Christmas Eve, 1968, deftly placed the pearls around Mac's neck, and then set the clasp.

"You look beautiful, Baby," Harm told Mac.

"Baby? You've never called me that before."

"That was what my dad said to my mom when he saw her wearing those pearls for the first time. My dad always called my mother Baby."

"What did he call you? I'm guessing that it wasn't Junior."

Harm smiled. "My dad called me Champ. What did your dad call you?"

_Tramp, Whore, Loser._

"He called me Sarah."

Harm became serious. "Mac, what is the real is reason you've been avoiding wearing the pearls?"

"I had thought that they were under the tree on Christmas Eve when..." Mac's voice dropped to a whisper..."when the doorbell rang."

Harm took Mac in his arms and held her tightly. "Don't be sad, Mac. I hate to see sad Marines. My dad gave the pearls to my mom the year before he was shot down. I was there to see it, and so was Tom Boone."

"I suppose that when it comes to your mother and father being married, it seems more story than reality."

"My parent's marriage may have been short, but I'm living proof that it was reality."

"Smart ass." Mac playfully punched Harm on the upper arm and then went into the dinning room to admire the pearls in the mirror. "It's a magnificent strand. Your father must have spent a lot of time picking them out."

"That's why my mother has never allowed anyone to wear them. Her wanting to give them to you not only shows how she feels about you, but how my father would feel about you."

Mac shook her head. "Before making this trip, I had only meet Trish once, and that was at a party hosted by Porter Webb. You were there with Annie, and I hardly spoke with Trish at all."

_I was too busy fighting off a drunken Clayton Webb._

You made an impression on her. Just like made an impression on me when we first met."

"Because I looked like Diane."

"No, Mac. It's because you are unlike any woman I have ever met."

Mac thought for a moment. Obviously a handsome man like Harmon Rabb could take his pick of women, but he was selective.

If Diane had been his first love, Harm may have been overwhelmed by her. Even so, Harm had described their relationship as being hit and miss.

And Annie? Never mind her being the widow of Harm's best friend, how could any man want to get involved with such an emotional mess?

Those were the relationships that Mac knew about, but surely there had been other women.

Kate Pike? Mac was certain that something had happened between the two while they were in Naples. Had Kate been to Trish and Frank's home in La Jolla and slept in the same bed that Mac was sleeping in?

On the other hand, the pushover; the easy lay, didn't seem to interest Harm at all.

Commander Coulter was coming on to Harm during the entire time that they were in Arizona; swinging her big ass in front of him, but Harm brushed her off.

Although Harm's previous relationships hadn't progressed, Mac resolved to succeed where the other women had failed: she would wear Harm's ring on her finger.

And if came down to a competition? Bring it on, because Sarah MacKenzie played to win...

During their 28 weeks of all-around combat training at The Basic School, newly commissioned Marine officers qualified on weapons, acted in each role of a four man fireteam, rode in tanks and assault amphibious vehicles (amtracs), called for fire from mortars and field artillery, simulated airborne assaults by landing in helicopters, and performed other duties assignments the instructors felt was relevant.

Phase I of instruction at the Marine Corps Basic School consisted of individual skills which included leadership, Rifle and Pistol Qualification, land navigation, communications, combat lifesaving, and Martial Arts.

The females in Mac's company were a diverse group. One woman was an Academy graduate and such an elitist snob that she was unapproachable. Another woman, who was destined for flight school at Pensacola, didn't talk about anything but flying.

At that time, ground combat roles were not open to women, which meant that many women, including Jonesy, planned to take staff assignments, most of which had a high percentage of female enlisted personnel.

The first course of instruction was in the principles of leadership and Mac noticed right away that those same female officers were the ones who reluctant to give orders to men.

Sarah MacKenzie had inherited Staff Sergeant Joe MacKenzie's booming voice. Although Mac's voice was pitched several octaves higher than her father's baritone, when called upon to give orders to men or women, Mac didn't hesitate to make herself heard and understood.

Although The Basic School emphasizes officers working and training together as "one team," in head to head or individual competition, it often came down to the males verses the females.

The rifle range was one course of instruction where the men held no advantage over the women. Size and weight didn't matter on the firing line, where it was individual skill that carried the day.

In her youth, Mac had never touched a firearm. Her father had no guns in the house, and given his temper, Mac thought it was just as well.

To pass time during her stay in Red Rock Mesa, Col. Matt O'Hara began instructing his niece in the operation of the Colt AR-15 and the Beretta 92FS; the civilian equivalents to the M16 rifle and M9 pistol used by US Armed Forces.

On her first trip to her uncle's improvised shooting range, Mac had proven to be a natural marksman.

"Your father may be a drunken train wreck now, but he was once a 4.0 Marine, and a damned fine shot," Matt O'Hara hold told his niece.

"I'd glad to hear that I inherited at least one of his few positive traits," said Mac.

Every Marine is a rifleman. Individual marksmanship is held in high esteem in the Corps and Marine marksmanship instructors and coaches- male and female, were professionals.

Early in "Grass Week," (the first phase of marksmanship instruction), Mac was recognized as having the potential to be one of the better shots in the company. During the live fire training phase, Mac's coach, Sergeant Maria Cortes, set out to build upon and then improve her existing shooting skills and Mac, the ever attentive student, carefully logged every shot she fired in her DOPE Book.

The best shot in Mac's company, as well as in the battalion, was 2ndLT Travis Moore; a nationally ranked collegiate shooter who had been an alternate on the US Shooting Team. Travis Moore had been to Camp Perry, and his trophies in high power Leg Matches proved his skill.

Despite the supposed blind eye to chromosomes, Sergeant Cortes told Mac, "LT MacKenzie, don't pay any attention to LT Moore. You can out score any man on the range."

Although Mac was shouldering considerable pressure, the pressure on Moore was far greater. For a male Marine to be beaten by a "girl" was unfathomable, but 2nd Lt. Sarah MacKenzie was no girl.

A rumor was circulating that Mac had crippled a man in a bar room brawl in Fredericksburg. Mac's roommate, Amanda Jones, would only verify that Mac had beaten the man unconscious, and that his body had been dragged away by the security guards.

Jonesy had nothing more to say on the matter, but it was taken for granted that during the martial arts training phase, Sarah MacKenzie would pull no punches.

On the morning of qualifying the weather was cold and clear: Perfect weather for shooting.

Match rifles were not used for qualifying. Each M16 on the firing line was a standard service rifle, and everyone qualified firing standard ball ammunition. The M193 Ball cartridge performed better in cold weather, so winter qualifying scores were typically higher than those in the summer.

Excitement was running high, not only in the company, but throughout the battalion. There was talk that Lieutenants MacKenzie or Moore might achieve what was then the maximum possible score of 250 points on the KD (Known Distance) range.

There hadn't been a "Perfect Possible" fired at The Basic School in well over a decade, and no female Marine, officer or enlisted, had ever accomplished it.

Bets were made. Not only among the Marines in the company, but between their coaches and instructors, as well as with senior NCO's throughout the battalion. Mac's reputation on the firing line was such that a few of the male NCO's bet on her to win.

60% of Mac's company would qualify as Expert that day- including Amanda Jones. This was an excellent showing; well above the norm, but every eye was focused on MacKenzie and Moore, who had been arranged next to each other on the firing line.

Before he put a plug of Red Man into his mouth, Chief Warrant Officer Hanson, the Range Officer, told his staff, "This should be good."

The first course of fire began with slow fire from the sitting, kneeling and standing positions using the Able target: a conventional a bullseye, at 200 and 300 yards.

Mac and Moore's scores went back and forth, with Moore finally edging ahead by two points.

The second course of fire was rapid fire at 200 and 300 yards, but now using the "Dog" target, which looked vaguely like a person looking over a barricade.

This was the target that Mac had trained with at Red Rock Mesa. Mac outscored Moore by 5 points and was holding a three point lead when the course of fire moved to Baker.

Sergeant Cortes, Mac's coach, approached Gunnery Sergeant Teresa Turner, the most senior female marksmanship instructor on the range. "Gunny, LT MacKenzie's going to win."

Gunny Turner was a lanky woman from Oklahoma whose face appeared to have been chiseled from a block of granite. "Sergeant Cortes, this is individual rifle qualification. It is not a competition."

Of course it was a competition, and Turner, though optimistic for Mac's chances, knew that Baker separated the men form the boys.

The final course of fire was for slow fire (20 rounds in 10 minutes) from the prone position at the 500 yard line using the "Baker" target: a human silhouette. When firing on Baker, only the sling can be used for support. The rifle can not touch the ground or anything other than the shooter's body.

Mac could normally hold her own on Baker, but this course of fire was Travis Moore's specialty. Moore began gradually pulling away, eventually scoring 50 of 50 possible points.

When the final scores were posted, Moore had scored 241- the highest score posted at the Basic School in over five years, while Mac had scored 236.

Although Mac's score would be the highest recorded by a female that year, it was small consolation. To Sarah MacKenzie, second place meant "First Loser."

_This was my best chance to show that on a level playing field, women are not only the equal of men, we can beat them! I couldn't have shot any better than I did today, and I lost._

Travis Moore approached Mac to shake her hand. "LT MacKenzie, you are a gifted marksman," Moore said sincerely.

"Thank you, LT Moore. And please, call me Mac."

2nd LT Sarah MacKenzie had won the respect of one of her male colleges on the rifle range. Now it was time for her to focus on next week's pistol qualifications.

Back in their hotel room, Harm was looking directly at Mac. "I asked you if you're ready to go to dinner?"

Mac came back to reality. "Yes, I'm ready. But let's shut the windows before we go."

* * *

[A/N] My thanks to Rebecca, who serves as my subject matter expert on women in the Marine Corps, and who qualified at The Basic School with an impressive 230 out of 250 possible points. Becca, you and I have been to the range many times, and I swear that some day I'll shoot well enough that you'll have to buy me lunch!


End file.
